THE  DISTRACTIONS   OF   MARTHA 


.  OF  CAHF. 


IOS 


THE   DISTRACTIONS 
OF  MARTHA 


BY 


MARION   HARLAND 

r  '  la  r    wr  /  o  ,>  * 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  R.    EMMETT   OWEN 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1906 


COPYRIGHT,    1906,    BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  FIRST  CANTO  OP  THE  DOMESTIC  IDYLL  .       3 

II  DAMPERS  ... 

III  A  "TOPPED  AND  TAILED"  DINNER 

IV  JOHN  HAS  A  NOTION          .         .         , 

V  WHAT  MAY  BE  DONE  WITH  A  CALF'S  HEAD 

VI  A  CROQUETTE  DINNER 

VII  AN  ANGEL  UNAWARES        .         . 

VIII  JOHN  EATS  AND  MORALIZES         . 

IX  ENTER  BRIDGET          . 

X  EXIT  BRIDGET  .          .... 

XI  THEIR  FIRST  DINNER-PARTY 

XII  JOHN  BRINGS  HOME  FRIENDS  TO  DINNER   .    147 

XIII  "THE  IDEAL  WAITRESS"    ....    164 

XIV  THE  COMMUTER          .....    183 
XV  JACK  TAKES  THE  MATTER  IN  HAND    .          .   208 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


ALL  WERE  ON  THEIR  FEET  IN  A  SECOND        Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

"GLASS-TOWELS  ABOVE,  POT-TOWELS  BELOW;    ALSO 

GRADED  WASH-CLOTHS"    .          .  .          .10 

"I'LL  BE  GORMED  IF  I  DON'T  BELIEVE  YOU  AIN'T 

THOUGHT  TO  OPEN  ONE  ON  'EM*.'     .      _  .  _-   :      .     30 

SHE  THREW  OPEN  THE  OVEN  DOOR  WITH  DRAMATIC 

EFFECT  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .       50 

IT     WAS     HOPELESSLY     UNPALATABLE A     FITTING 

CLIMAX  TO  A  DAY  OF  DISASTERS       .          .  56 

MARTHA   HAD   FORGOTTEN  THE  "THING"   UNTIL   IT 

WAS  BROUGHT  INTO  THE  GRAY-AND-BLUE  KITCHEN       58 

MARTHA  GOT  UP  TO  REMOVE  THE  PLATES  AND  BRING 

IN  THE  SALAD         ......     78 

"On,  YOU  POOR,  POOR  DEAR!    GIVE  ME  THAT  BOOK"    92 

"I  DON'T  MIND  TELLING  YOU  THAT  MORE  MEN  ARE 
DRIVEN  TO  DRINK  BY  BAD  COOKING  THAN  BY 
ANY  OTHER  ONE  THING1-  ....  IO2 

"HOW    DARE    YOU    SPEAK    SO    OF    A    LADY?"  .     126 


THE   DISTRACTIONS 
OF   MARTHA 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    FIRST  CANTO  OF  THE   DOMESTIC   IDYLL 

To  fireside  happiness,  to  hours  of  ease, 

Blest  with  that  charm — the  certainty  to  please. 

SAMUEL  ROGERS. 

THE  Gentlemanly  Principal  accepted  Miss 
Burr's  resignation  with  conventional  regret  that 
was  yet  flavored  with  sincerity. 

He  was  a  man  of  routine,  and  never  demon- 
strative, and  a  large  percentage  of  women  teach- 
ers had  tendered  their  resignations  to  him  in 
similar  circumstances.  But  Miss  Burr's  methods 
had  harmonized  with  his;  her  temper  was  even; 
her  address  was  pleasant,  and  it  occurred  to  him 
today,  for  the  first  time,  that  she  was  comely  to 
look  upon. 

"  I  am  sorry,  really  very  sorry,  that  we  are  to 
lose  you,"  he  reiterated.  "  You  have  been  with 
us  a  long  time.  Let  me  see !  six  years,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Seven,  Mr.  Fielding,"  in  crisp,  clear  accents 
and  the  careful  enunciation  every  teacher  ac- 
quires in  the  practice  of  the  profession.  "  As 
long  as  Jacob  served  for  Rachel." 

3 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

The  Gentlemanly  Principal  raised  his  eyebrows 
in  an  interrogative  smile.  "  And  Mr.  Purcell — 
may  I  ask  if  he  has  stood  and  waited  as  long? 
Milton  defines  that  as  service,  you  know." 

Decidedly  she  was  pleasing  to  the  sight,  he 
said  to  himself,  as  a  pretty  flush  warmed  cheeks 
paled  by  the  winter's  drudgery. 

She  answered  bravely  enough,  a  prideful  spar- 
kle in  the  gray  eyes  he  now  saw  were  hand- 
some and  expressive.  "  Barely  that  number  of 
months.  But  we  have  been  friends  for  several 
years." 

The  Gentlemanly  Principal  bowed,  the  grave 
smile  gallantly  significant.  "  He  has  made  ex- 
cellent use  of  his  time.  I  shall  make  it  my  busi- 
ness— and  my  pleasure — to  say  as  much  to  him, 
and  how  heartily  I  congratulate  him,  when  I 
meet  and  know  him,  as  I  hope  you  will  let  me  do 
some  day." 

Martha  Burr  had  risen  to  take  her  leave,  the 
Principal  rising  from  his  chair  behind  his  desk 
at  her  motion. 

Instead  of  meeting  his  half-extended  hand, 
she  leaned  slightly  toward  him,  and  spoke  ear- 
nestly, quick  little  breaths  of  excitement  breaking 
her  speech  into  short  lengths: 

"  I  hope  you  will,  Mr.  Fielding !  You  may  con- 
sider me  very  presumptuous  to  think  of  such  a 

4 


The  First  Canto  of  the  Domestic  Idyll 

thing,  but  we  are  to  be — the  marriage — a  very 
quiet  affair — is  to  be  early  in  October — and  I 
should  be  very  happy — should  esteem  it  a  great 
honor — if  you  would  give  me  away.  You  see  " 
— hastening  to  quench  the  surprise  kindled  in  his 
eyes  by  the  unforeseen  request — "  I  am  almost 
alone  in  the  world.  My  father  died  when  I  was 
a  baby.  You  may  recollect  that  my  mother — left 
me  three  years  ago  ? "  The  Principal  bowed 
again,  now  in  sympathizing  reminiscence.  "  My 
only  brother  is  in  South  America.  You  have 
been  most  kind  to  me  ever  since  I  began  to  teach 
at  eighteen.  I  have  no  older  friend.  I  hope — I 
believe — I  shall  be  very  happy  in  my  new  life. 
But  at  such  a  time,  you  comprehend " 

In  her  nervous  agitation  she  pressed  the  tips 
of  gloved  fingers  upon  the  table  to  steady  her- 
self. They  were  long,  supple  fingers,  the  rus- 
set gloves  had  not  a  wrinkle;  the  curve  of  her 
wrist  was  graceful. 

The  Gentlemanly  Principal  laid  his  hand  upon 
hers  in  a  semi-caress  that  was  all-fatherly.  "  I 
do  comprehend,  my  child.  You  have  honored  me 
by  the  request.  Mrs.  Fielding  and  I  will  be  at 
your  marriage,  and  I  shall  gladly  perform  the 
little  service  you  ask  of  me.  You  must  let  us 
come  to  see  you  when  you  are  settled.  You  will 
not  leave  New  York,  I  hope." 

5 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Her  face  was  suddenly  radiant;  seriousness 
broke  up  into  curves  and  dimples  as  innocently 
happy  as  the  pleasure  of  a  child.  "  Oh,  no!  We 
have  taken  a  cottage  in  Budfield,  and  mean  to 
go  at  once  to  housekeeping.  You  see  " — falling 
unconsciously  into  an  ingenuously  confidential 
tone,  as  if  sure  of  sympathy  in  what  most  inter- 
ested herself — "  neither  of  us  has  had  a  real 
home  since  we  were  mere  babies.  Mother  and 
I  have  always  boarded! "  She  lingered  upon  the 
word  in  fine  disdain.  "  And  Jack — Mr.  Purcell, 
I  mean  " — the  pale  cheeks  were  a  painful  pink 
at  the  lapsus  lingua — "  has  done  the  same  since 
he  was  fifteen  years  old.  Home  means  a  great 
deal  to  us.  You  can't  know  how  much ! " 

"  You  like  housekeeping,  then  ?  Cookery,  and 
the  rest  of  it?" 

Her  joyous  confidence  lured  him  on  to  the 
question. 

"  I  shall  revel  in  home-making,  I  know ! 
Minor  details, — cookery  and  the  like — can  be  eas- 
ily mastered.  Don't  misunderstand  me !  " — for 
Mr.  Fielding,  whose  wife's  reputation  as  an  ul- 
trafastidious  housewife  had  never  reached  the 
teacher,  had  smiled  knowingly.  "  I  shall  set  my- 
self seriously  to  work  along  those  lines  this  vaca- 
tion. I  shall  take  a  course  of  lessons  in  a  cooking- 
class,  and  study  the  best  manuals  upon  Household 

6 


The  First  Canto  of  the  Domestic  Idyll 

Economies  as   I  would  study   German   or   the 
higher  mathematics." 

"  A  big  contract  to  be  filled  in  three  months !  " 
Martha's  arch  smile  and  saucy  nod  were  oddly 
girlish,  yet  becoming. 

"  '  The  labor  we  delight  in  physics  pain ! '  I 
am  not  afraid!  Thank  you  again — and  a  thou- 
sand times !  Good-by !  " 

The  bride  of  a  week  reviewed  the  dialogue, 
section  by  section,  during  the  swift  toilet  that 
followed  her  first  night  in  the  Budfield  cottage. 
They  had  reached  New  York  at  six  o'clock  the 
preceding  evening  after  a  brief  wedding  tour, 
and  had  supper  in  the  restaurant  of  the  Jersey 
City  Ferry.  Refreshed  in  body  and  jubilant  in 
spirit,  they  found  themselves  at  eight  o'clock  upon 
the  threshold  of  the  neat  frame  cottage  the  plen- 
ishing of  which  had  consumed  all  their  spare 
hours  since  the  end  of  the  school-term. 

A  charwoman  of  indubitable  reputation  had 
been  engaged  to  air  and  dust  the  rooms  twenty- 
four  hours  prior  to  their  arrival.  When  John 
had  let  themselves  into  the  front  door  with  the 
latch-key  attached  to  a  steel  chain  festooned  in 
modest  ostentation  upon  his  thigh,  and  struck  a 
match  to  light  the  gas  in  every  room  on  the  first 
floor,  they  kissed  solemnly  under  the  parlor  chan- 

7 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

delier,  and  each  said — John  huskily,  Martha  with 
a  tearful  tremble  in  her  voice — "  Welcome  home, 
darling!" 

Then  Martha  nestled  her  face  against  the 
bosom  of  John's  negligee  shirt,  and  sniffed  a  lit- 
tle because  it  was  "  all  too  heavenly  to  be  true, 
and  was  John  sure  she  wouldn't  wake  up  pres- 
ently and  find  she  had  to  begin  school  again  to- 
morrow ?  " 

Consoled  by  his  assurance  that  she  was  "  the 
most  angelic  goose  that  ever  lived,"  she  forth- 
with insisted  that  they  make  the  rounds  of  the 
house  then  and  there. 

They  went  all  through  it.  Everything  was 
in  prime  order. 

Martha  had  spent  three  days  out  of  the  last 
week  of  her  singlehood  alone  in  the  cottage. 
Her  own  hands  had  made  the  beds,  set  every 
room  in  order,  hung  towels  in  the  bath-room, 
set  the  table  for  breakfast,  even  to  putting  the 
napkins  by  their  plates,  and  laid  the  kitchen  fire 
ready  for  lighting. 

This  was  her  first  home-coming  surprise 
to  John,  and  his  delighted  amazement  met  her 
fullest  expectations.  The  kitchen  was  the  cli- 
max. 

.  "  I  never  dreamed  an  earthly  kitchen  could 
look  like  this ! "  said  the  satisfied  spouse,  stand- 

8 


The  First  Canto  o)  the  Domestic  Idyll 

ing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  and  staring  about 
him. 

His  awed  admiration  would  have  been  dra- 
matic had  it  been  less  palpably  sincere.  "  I  used 
to  think  my  mother's  kitchen  the  pleasantest 
place  in  the  house — but  it  was  not  like  this !  " 

Martha  reached  up  to  nip  his  ear.  "  '  An 
earthly  kitchen ! '  There'll  be  no  cooking  in 
Heaven,  silly  boy !  " 

"  I  suppose  not.  They'll  live  upon  breadfruit 
and  the  like,  from  the  tree  that  bears  a  different 
dish  every  month,"  said  literal  John.  "  More's 
the  pity!  I  don't  mean  to  be  irreverent,  but  a 
piping-hot  oyster-stew  and  a  blood-rare  steak  are 
more  tempting  to  a  flesh-and-blood  fellow.  I 
say,  little  woman,  I  begin  to  see  now  why  you 
are  so  set  upon  not  keeping  a  girl." 

"  Would  you  mind  saying  '  maid,'  Jack  ?  Only 
country  people  talk  of  *  girls '  nowadays." 

"  We'll  compromise  and  call  her  a  '  Biddy.' 
She'd  be  worse  than  a  bull  in  a  china-shop  if  she 
were  turned  loose  in  this — paradise !  " 

Martha  shuddered,  and  with  reason. 

The  floor  was  covered  with  tiled  linoleum, 
gray  and  blue;  oil-cloth  of  a  similar  design  and 
in  the  same  colors  was  tacked  smoothly  and 
evenly  upon  the  walls ;  the  ceiling  was  painted  a 
soft  gray.  Behind  the  glass  doors  of  a  corner 

9 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

cupboard,  reaching  from  floor  to  ceiling,  three 
upper  shelves  bore  a  modest  array  of  blue-and- 
white  crockery  really  graceful  in  shape.  The 
lower  shelves  were  furnished  with  bake-dishes, 
pots  and  kettles  in  a  ware  John  had  never  seen 
before — some  shiny  gray,  others  blue-and-white. 

"But,  I  say!"  he  uttered  again,  "I  thought 
pots  and  kettles  and  frying-pans  and  things! 
were  black — and  where's  your  tinware  ?  " 

"  Obsolete — utterly !  Nobody  in  this  enlight- 
ened age  need  spoil  her  hands  with  sooty  uten- 
sils. This  ware  is  absolutely  fireproof  and  as 
easily  kept  clean  as  china.  Come  and  look  at 
my  sink !  " 

Dish-pans  in  three  sizes  hung  above  a  row  of 
large  spoons,  metal  skewers  and  dish-mops.  A 
soap-dish  was  flanked  by  a  soap-shaker.  At  the 
end  of  the  sink  was  a  two-storied  rack  for  dish- 
towels. 

"  Glass-towels  above,  pot-towels  below,"  ex- 
plained Martha ;  "  also  graded  wash-cloths.  All 
in  place,  as  you  see,  and  ready  for  use.  But 
I  think  I  am  more  proud  of  the  artistic  construc- 
tion in  the  grate — as  the  final  touch — than  of  any- 
thing else  I  ever  did  in  all  my  life.  Look  at  it!  " 

The  range  was,  John  averred,  "  a  picture  to 
behold !  "  Shiny  black,  the  nickel  fittings  like 
polished  mirrors,  and  in  the  steel  grate  below, 
10 


... 
" Glass-towels  above,  pot-towels  below;   also  graded  wash-cloths 


The  First  Canto  oj  the  Domestic  Idyll 

first,  a  substratum  of  paper,  then,  finely  splintered 
wood,  a  layer  of  larger  kindlings,  and  above  all, 
lumps  of  glossy  coal. 

Martha  removed  a  lid  with  a  lifter,  pausing  to 
show  that  it  was  a  patented  "  cold  handle,"  a  sec- 
tion of  wood  between  the  metals  serving  as  a 
non-conductor. 

"  Oh,  I  say! "  interjected  John  helplessly.  His 
stock  of  expletives  was  running  low.  "  Where 
did  you  ever  learn  to  make  a  fire?  You  might 
have  been  a  stoker  for  seven  years  instead  of  a 
school-teacher." 

"  Never  saw  a  fire  laid  in  my  life !  "  announced 
Martha,  triumphantly,-  hanging  the  lifter  back 
upon  its  appointed  hook.  "  That  structure  is  a 
work  of  art — the  result  of  a  process  of  induction. 
I  brought  Reason  to  bear  upon  the  subject.  Just 
as  I  see  by  the  light  of  reason,  unassisted  by  ex- 
perience, that  I  shall  save  time  by  filling  this  ket- 
tle now,  and  setting  it  on  the  range,  instead  of 
waiting  until  to-morrow  morning.  Just  as  I 
instructed  our  worthy  charwoman  to  take  bread, 
ice,  milk  and  cream  for  us  today,  and  to  see 
that  the  grocer  sent  in  the  fresh  eggs  I  ordered 
by  letter.  Just  as  I  reason  within  myself  that 
housework,  cookery  included,  should  be  directed 
by  what  the  great  painter  said  he  mixed  his  paints 
with — *  Brains,  sir ! '  You  see  before  you,  Mr. 

ii 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Purcell,  an  Art  Kitchen!  And  the  cook  means 
to  work  upon  philosophical  principles.  There 
are  my  coadjutors !  " 

On  one  side  of  the  French  clock,  jauntily  nib- 
bling time  away  upon  a  shelf  above  the  zinc- 
topped  table,  was  a  row  of  books.  The  bindings 
were  protected  by  covers  of  stout  gray  linen 
bound  with  blue.  Martha  had  lettered  the  titles 
upon  the  back  in  blue  ink.  The  gray  Holland 
window-shades  had  blue  fringes. 

"  A  symphony  in  gray  and  blue,  in  fact !  "  said 
music-loving  Martha.  "  We  degrade  what 
should  be  noble  when  we  make  work  homely. 
You  should  hear  our  cooking-class  teacher  on 
that  point.  She  says  we  should  look  upon  the 
kitchen  as  a  Temple,  and  the  range  as  a  Shrine." 

This  thought  was  uppermost  in  her  mind  as 
she  entered  the  Temple  at  six  o'clock  that  mid- 
October  morning,  and  threw  open  the  shutters 
to  admit  the  pre-sunrise  grayness  that  passed  for 
daylight. 

"  How  short  the  days  are  getting ! "  she  said 
aloud.  "  We  want  '  light,  more  light,'  as  the 
dying  Goethe  said !  " 

The  gas,  flaming  to  meet  the  match,  showed  a 
happy  face,  a  trim  figure  clad  in  dark  blue  ging- 
ham, a  white  bib-apron,  and  above  the  abundant 
chestnut  hair  a  jaunty  white  cap  with  a  knot 

12 


The  First  Canto  of  the  Domestic  Idyll 

of  blue  ribbon  on  top.  She  was  dressed  to  the 
part.  The  skirt  was  short  enough  to  show  a  pair 
of  exceedingly  neat  feet.  The  Common-Sense 
shoes  had  dark  blue  rosettes. 

Every  step  in  the  task  laid  to  her  hand  was 
clearly  defined  to  her  mind's  eye. 

First:  Light  the  fire. 

Second:  Cut  the  bread  for  toast,  not  forgetting 
to  pare  off  the  crusts  and  set  them  aside  to  be 
dried  in  the  oven  later  in  the  day,  then  crushed, 
and  stored  in  a  glass  jar  for  crumbing  croquettes 
and  chops. 

Third:  Put  the  sliced  bacon  in  the  frying-pan, 
ready  to  clap  on  the  fire  five  minutes  before  break- 
fast is  served. 

Fourth:  Turn  into  a  bowl  enough  Veata-Beater 
for  "  the  two  of  us,"  in  readiness  for  a  three- 
minute  visit  to  the  oven,  that  should  bring  out 
the  vitalizing  properties  of  the  "  best  brain-nerve- 
and-muscle  food  ever  given  to  suffering  hu- 
manity." 

Fifth:  Grind  the  coffee,  bought  in  the  roasted 
berry  to  avoid  adulteration,  and  kept  in  a  close 
canister  to  prevent  loss  of  aroma. 

Sixth:  WAKE  JOHN! 

Seventh:  Make  the  coffee,  and  leave  it  to  drip. 

Eighth:  Toast  the  bread,  and  leave  it  in  the 

open  oven.    "  John  likes  it  crisp  and  dry." 

j 

13 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Ninth:  Fry  the  bacon,  and  lay  in  the  hot  colan- 
der to  drain  off  the  fat. 

Tenth:  Put  cream,  milk  and  butter-balls  on  the 
table.  The  balls  were  made  overnight  and  left 
in  ice-water. 

Eleventh:  Dish  breakfast. 

Twelfth:  CALL  JOHN! 

'    "  A  domestic  idyll  in  twelve  numbers !  "  she 
had  said,  in  arranging  the  mental  programme. 

Swiftly  and  deftly  she  went  through  six  instal- 
ments. John  was  still  fast  asleep.  She  threw 
open  the  windows,  admitting  as  much  of  the  now 
bleaching  grayness  as  the  room  would  hold.  John 
slept  on,  and  audibly.  Not  snoring,  of  course. 
To  concede  that  would  be  treason.  But,  as  he 
lay  on  his  back,  an  arm  and  hand  thrown  over 
his  head,  queer  little  puffs  of  breath  from  the 
left  corner  of  his  mouth  reminded  her  that  the 
kettle  downstairs  might  be  boiling  over  rhyth- 
mically. 

She  shook  him  into  consciousness  before  kiss- 
ing him  awake.  It  is  only  in  old-fashioned  poetry 
that  lovers  extract  any  satisfaction  from  oscula- 
tion of  sleeping  beauties. 

"  Jack,  dear !    I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,  but 

it  is  half -past  six,  and  you  take  the  7:45,  you 

know.     Breakfast  will  be  ready  before  you  are. 

No !  "  soothingly,  "  you  are  not  '  a  selfish  pig/ 

14 


The  First  Canto  oj  the  Domestic  Idyll 

nor  yet  '  a  sleepy-head ! '  I  was  very  careful  not 
to  wake  you.  I  couldn't  have  forgiven  myself 
if  you  had  lost  a  delicious  morning  doze.  Only 
now  you  haven't  a  minute  to  lose.  Nor  have  I !  " 

He  smiled  as  he  heard  her  fleet  feet  skim  the 
stairs  as  a  swallow  the  waves,  and  laughed  out- 
right in  sheer  pleasure  when  she  broke  into  a 
carol  as  a  swallow  might  twitter  in  the  joy  of 
flying. 

"  By  George !  She  hasn't  her  equal  in  the 
United  States  of  North  America ! "  burst  from 
his  heart  and  lips. 

The  song  dropped  from  Martha's  tongue  on 
the  threshold  of  the  artistic  kitchen.  A  curious 
chill  and  silence  greeted  her  there.  Having 
touched  the  paper  with  the  match,  and  seen  a 
rapid  red  zigzag  of  flame  dart  from  fold  to  fold, 
she  had  dismissed  the  fire  from  her  mind.  It 
was  inductively  laid  and  rationally  ignited. 
General  combustion  must  ensue. 

Absorbed  in  happy  retrospection,  imagination 
bounding  forward  to  salute  a  smiling  future, 
complacent  in,  and  confident  of,  the  wisdom  of 
a  System  based  upon  natural  laws  and  cemented 
by  eternal  truths,  she  had  never  once  glanced  at 
the  range. 

Apparently,  natural  laws  had  been  violated.. 
There  was  a  smell  of  burnt  paper.  She  wondered 

15 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

she  had  not  noticed  it  before.  A  shimmer  of 
blue  haze  floated  breast-high  through  the  room. 
The  range  was  as  cold  as  a  Bureau  of  Organized 
Charity;  the  grate  was  lightless. 

In  every-day  kitchen  English,  the  fire  had  not 
kindled ! 


16 


CHAPTER   II 

DAMPERS 

The  best-laid  schemes  o'  mice  an'  men 

Gang  aft  agley, 
And  lea'e  us  nought  but  grief  and  pain 

For  promised  joy. 

BURNS. 

IN  dime-novel  phraseology,  our  horrified  bride 
fell  upon  her  knees  before  the  dark  grate  with  a 
low  cry  of  anguish. 

By  now,  according  to  inductive  reasoning,  the 
kettle  should  be  boiling  and  the  oven  warmed 
by  the  steady  glow  of  the  ignited  coal.  The 
brutal  fact  was  that  not  all  the  paper  had  been 
burned,  and  the  splintered  wood  was  scarcely 
scorched.  In  frantic  haste  Martha  applied  an- 
other match ;  in  extravagant  desperation,  a  bunch 
of  six  matches.  The  paper  caught  at  it  readily, 
flickered,  sighed,  sent  a  puff  of  stifling  smoke 
into  her  face,  and  blackened  slowly. 

The  woman  of  thorough  measures  took  the 
lids  off  the  range  with  her  bare  hands,  forgetful 
of  the  Cold  Handle  Lifter  (patented),  tore  out 
the  contents  of  the  grate,  and  rebuilt  the  fire 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

even  more  inductively  than  before.  Perhaps  the 
superincumbent  weight  of  the  anthracite  had 
pressed  the  life  out  of  the  infant  sparks.  She 
doubled  the  quantity  of  larger  wood,  left  half 
of  the  coal  out,  and  put  in  dry,  fresh  paper.  A 
week  in  the  shut-up  house  may  have  dampened 
the  first. 

As  before,  the  blue  flame  met  a  prompt  re- 
sponse in  the  paper,  lost  heart  at  the  second 
puff,  and  began  to  smoke  lamentably. 

The  truth  dawned  upon  the  dismayed  theorist. 
She  had  heard  of  chimneys  that  would  not 
"  draw."  Doctor  Franklin  thought  them  of  such 
dignified  importance  as  a  curse  to  comfort  that 
he  had  written  an  Essay  upon  Smoky  Chimneys. 
This  curse  had  entered  paradise! 

The  hands  of  the  impertinent  nibbler  of  time 
upon  the  shelf  pointed  to  fifteen  minutes  of 
seven,  and  six  numbers  of  the  domestic  idyll  were 
neither  present,  nor  accounted  for.  A  handsome 
copper  chafing-dish,  one  of  her  wedding  presents, 
stood  on  the  sideboard  in  the  dining-room.  A 
bottle  of  alcohol  was  in  the  storeroom.  A  cork- 
screw was  one  of  the  might-be-needed  kitchen 
properties.  Five  minutes  more  had  been  nibbled 
off  and  dropped  into  eternity  past  when  she 
brought  the  three  utensils  together  upon  the  zinc- 
topped  table  and  filled  the  lamp.  In  ten  minutes 

18 


Dampers 

she  must  toast  the  bread,  make  the  coffee  and  fry 
the  bacon.  The  Veata-Beater  could  be  eaten 
cold  at  a  pinch,  and  this  was  a  pinch. 

The  chafing-dish  was  the  best  of  its  kind,  but, 
confronted  with  the  demand  to  toast,  fry  and 
boil  at  one  and  the  same  time,  it  was  found 
wanting.  Martha  was  well-read  in  fiction,  as  in 
philosophy.  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  immortal  max- 
im, "Something  must  be  crowded  out"  held  an 
honorable  place  among  quotable,  because  prac- 
tical, aphorisms.  The  pinch  crowded  out  the 
toast  on  the  spot.  John  must  have  his  coffee, 
though  the  sky  fell.  She  filled  the  deepest  of 
the  saucepans  appertaining  unto  the  chafing-dish 
with  water,  and  set  it  over  the  burner.  While 
it  was  in  heating,  she  set  a  dish  of  oranges  on  the 
breakfast-table,  the  cold  bread  (this  with  a 
pang),  the  butter,  cream  and  the  glass  bowl  of 
Veata-Beater. 

Then — having  not  one  atom  of  superstition^1 
in  her  make-up — she  went  back  to  the  kitchen 
to  watch  for  the  boiling  of  the  pot.  In  five  min- 
utes it  should  have  reached  the  point  of  ebullition. 
Whereas,  as  if  it  had  caught  the  spirit  of  the 
recalcitrant  fire,  at  the  end  of  eight  minutes  a 
low-spirited  simmer  had  just  begun  to  crimp 
the  outer  edges. 

At  this  instant  the  woman  of   rational  re- 
19 


The  Distractions  0}  Martha 

sources  thought  of  one.  Since  the  bacon  was 
knocked  out  of  the  running  by  the  abnormal 
sloth  of  the  water,  she  would  boil  two  eggs  in 
the  same  liquid  that  was  to  make  the  coffee.  If 
washed  clean,  the  shells  would  not  harm  the  bev- 
erage without  which  she  had  heard  John  declare 
that  he  could  not  live  and  work  through  the  day. 
Wrapped  in  a  hot  napkin,  they  would  neither 
chill  nor  harden  while  the  coffee  percolated  and 
dripped. 

She  cleansed  the  eggs  in  two  waters,  wiped 
them  dry,  and  dropped  them  into  the  now  heav- 
ing water.  No.  i  reached  the  bottom  in  safety. 
No.  2  struck  between  its  predecessor  and  the 
side  of  the  saucepan,  and  cracked  across. 

One  part  of  the  wit  that  goes  to  the  boiling 
of  eggs  is  to  slide  them  into  the  water  from  the 
tip  of  a  tablespoon.  This  is  one  of  the  thousand- 
and-ten  things  everybody  is  expected  to  know. 
Consequently,  it  was  not  spoken  of  in  the  cook- 
ing-class. A  grayish  film  coated  the  surface  of 
the  agitated  water;  yellowish  nebulae  slowly 
spread  themselves  below  it. 

Martha  snatched  at  the  saucepan  with  her 
naked  hand.  It  burned  her  fiercely,  and  she  let 
go  before  it  quite  reached  the  table.  Striking 
on  the  edge  of  the  bottom,  the  vessel  careened 
and  went  over. 

20 


Dampers 

John  entering,  clean-shaven,  smiling,  buoy- 
antly expectant,  in  his  natty  business  suit,  worn 
today  for  the  first  time,  was  just  in  season  to 
get  a  dash  of  the  murky  geyser  upon  his  trou- 
sers. The  up-to-now  whole  egg,  in  its  rebound 
from  the  linoleum,  crashed  with  full  force  against 
the  toe  of  a  glossy  boot. 

The  Apostle  of  System,  Philosophy  and  Re- 
source burst  into  tears  as  hot  and  heavy  as  the 
hysterical  weeping  of  the  weakest  of  her  sex. 
The  one  possible  palliation  of  the  catastrophe 
would  have  lain  in  the  saving  sense  of  humor 
which  has  kept  many  a  woman  out  of  the  lunatic 
asylum,  and  this  our  heroine  did  not  possess. 
Even  John's  anathemas  of  the  rascally  fraud  of 
a  range  and  the  maker  and  patentee  thereof 
brought  no  light  to  her  darkness.  When  the 
chief  sufferer  from  the  mischances  of  the  morn- 
ing— and  who,  luckily  for  him,  could  discern  the 
funny  side  of  a  case  when  there  was  one  in  sight 
— told  her  over  his  large  cold  orange,  cold  bread, 
cold  Veata-Beater,  and  glass  of  cold  milk,  that 
he  "  had  not  expected  to  get  into  hot  water  so 
early  in  married  life,"  and  compared  the  scene 
revealed  by  the  opening  of  the  kitchen  door  to 
Marius  among  the  ruins  of  Carthage,  she  could 
not  force  a  smile. 

"  I  wish  I  could  stay  to  help  you  out  of  the 
21 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

scrape,  little  girl ! "  said  John,  with  his  good-by 
kiss.  "  Telephone  for  a  plumber  or  a  mason — or 
somebody — and  have  that  beastly  humbug  over- 
hauled right  away.  I  wouldn't  have  had  you 
so  worried  and  upset  for  ten  times  the  worth  of 
the  infernal  machine.  As  for  me,  I've  had  a  tip- 
top breakfast.  The  sight  of  you  at  the  head  of 
your  own  table — and  mine! — did  me  more  good 
than  a  Delmonico- Hoffman -Waldorf -Astoria 
breakfast  would  have  done.  Keep  up  a  brave 
heart,  pet!  All's  well  that  ends  well." 

Martha  took  the  chill  from  the  suds  in  which 
she  washed  the  breakfast-things  by  a  quart  of 
water  heated  over  the  lamp  of  the  chafing-dish. 
Of  course,  no  hot  water  was  to  be  had  from  the 
boiler,  in  the  absence  of  a  range-fire.  When 
she  had  set  the  kitchen  to  rights,  she  looked 
drearily  about  her,  wondering  at  the  change 
wrought  in  the  place  and  in  life  within  twelve 
hours  by  circumstances  so  ignoble  as  a  fire  that 
would  not  burn,  water  that  would  not  boil,  and  a 
quart-kettle  that  turned  over. 

That  John  had  gone  to  business  on  their  first 
morning  in  their  own  home  with  never  a  warm 
bit  or  sup,  seemed  to  her  a  disappointment  she 
could  never  get  over — a  mortification  that  must 
abide  with  her  for  ever. 

She  called  up  the  plumber,   and  received  a 

22 


Dampers 

promise  that  he  "  would  be  along  soon's  he  could 
get  through  with  other  jobs." 

Words  and  tone  were  merely  those  indigenous 
to  the  soil  that  grows  the  suburban  mechanic, 
but  they  were  another  thorn-prick. 

Her  menu  for  the  day  was  prearranged  in  her 
provident  mind,  and  her  market-memoranda  were 
made  out.  She  had  written  them  down  and 
computed  the  cost  of  each  item,  week  before 
last — the  day  but  one  before  she  was  married — 
in  a  substantial  leather-bound  book  lettered 
"  HOUSEHOLD  EXPENSES." 

At  nine  o'clock  she  was  ready  to  sally  forth, 
and  re-read  the  carefully  prepared  menu  to  re- 
fresh a  memory  that  seldom  played  her  false : 

DINNER 

(No.  i) 

Raw  Oysters 

Soup  (Mock  Turtle?) 

Roast  Beef  Sweet  Potatoes 

Green-Corn  Fritters 

Lettuce  Salad  Cream  Cheese  and  Crackers 

Floating  Island 

Coffee 

"  No  frills,"  as  John  would  say.  A  substan- 
tial family  dinner  befitting  the  means  of  two 
young  people  with  an  income  of  two  thousand  five 

23 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

hundred  dollars  per  annum,  and  eminently  satis- 
factory in  the  reading. 

John  doted  upon  roast  beef,  and  sweet  pota- 
toes went  well  with  it.  Green-corn  fritters  were 
also  a  favorite  weakness  with  him,  and  she  had 
seen  his  eyes  grow  dreamy  and  wistful  some- 
times in  alluding  to  the  floating  islands  his 
mother  used  to  make  for  his  Sunday  dinner. 
Martha  had  taken  copious  and  circumstantial 
notes  of  recipes  of  each  and  all  of  the  above- 
named  dishes  as  they  were  dressed  upon  the  plat- 
form by  the  professorin  who  likened  the  range  to 
a  Shrine.  The  wife  had  no  misgiving  as  to  her 
ability  to  prepare  the  delicacy  if  the  fire  were  once 
made  to  burn  upon  the  now  cold  and  darkling 
Altar. 

She  called  up  the  plumber  again,  and  strove 
to  exact  a  pledge  that  he  would  come  to  her  as 
early  as  eleven  o'clock.  She  could  lunch  on 
crackers  and  cheese  and  an  apple.  But  John 
ought,  and  must,  and  should,  have  a  dinner  that 
would  drive  far  from  him  the  memory  of  the 
breakfast  he  did  not  eat.  The  sole  result  of  her 
pleadings  was  a  half -engagement  to  "  try  to  look 
in  somewheres  about  noon." 

"  Too  late  to  make  anything  but  a  cream 
soup ! "  reflected  the  youthful  caterer,  ruefully. 
"  And  I  had  set  my  heart  upon  mock  turtle ! 
24 


Dampers 

Never  mind!  I'll  get  a  calf's  head,  and  cook  it 
in  time  to  have  it  ready  for  to-morrow.  John 
prefers  it  to  any  other." 

The  suburban  butcher  had  "  no  head  in  stock." 
He  could  telephone  to  the  city  for  it,  and  deliver 
it  that  evening,  "  if  that  would  suit  Mrs. " 

"  Purcell ! "  supplied  Martha  glibly,  at  his  in- 
terrogative pause,  with  the  elaborate  unconcern 
assumed  by  young  matrons  before  their  new 
names  fit  easily  upon  them,  "  231  Elderberry 
Avenue,  corner  of  Hackmetack  Street.  We  have 
removed  lately  to  Budfield  from  New  York.  If 
we  are  satisfied  with  the  manner  in  which  you 
serve  us,  we  shall  probably  become  regular 
customers.  Your  place  is  very  convenient 
to  us." 

"  I  hope  Mrs.  Purcell  will  have  no  occasion  to 
complain  of  us !  "  smirked  the  obsequious  knight 
of  the  cleaver  over  an  expanse  of  bib-apron  that 
fitted  his  roly-poliness  as  the  skin  fits  a  sausage. 
"  Now,  what  can  I  show  her  that  we  have  in 
stock?  Poultry — lamb,  very  choice — beef,  ah, 
yes !  "  at  an  affirmative  gesture. 

"  A  prime  roast !  "  ordered  Martha.  The  cook- 
book phrase  would  have  betrayed  inexperience 
if  glibness  and  unconcern  had  not  written  "  just 
married !  "  all  over  her  for  the  vender's  practised 
eye.  "  Rib-roast.  About  five  pounds  in  weight 

25 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

— net.      And   the   trimmings   to   be   sent   home 
with  it." 

She  had  not  taken  two  lessons  in  "  How, 
When  and  Where  to  Purchase  "  for  nothing. 

The  rubicund  tradesman  pursed  a  doubting 
mouth  and  shook  a  more  than  doubting  head. 
"  Two  ribs  are  the  very  least  we  recommend  a 
lady  to  buy.  One  would  make  a  ridiculously 
small  roast,  hardly  thicker  than  a  steak,  in  point 
of  fact,  when  trimmed.  It  really  would  not  pay 
Mrs.  Purcell's  cook  to  cook  it.  It  would  dry 
up  into  nothing." 

"  I  am  my  own  cook,"  said  Martha,  flushing 
with  consciousness  of  moral  courage  in  avowing 
it  to  so  ornate  a  personage.  "  Let  it  be  two 
ribs,  then.  Fortunately  I  know  what  to  do  with 
the  left-overs." 

"  Certainly,  Mrs.  Purcell,  certainly !  In  that 
Mrs.  Purcell  is  unlike  many  ladies  in  whose 
kitchens  more  is  thrown  away  than  is  eaten  by  the 
family.  There  is  the  advantage  of  a  lady  being 
her  own  manager.  Nothing  is  wasted.  It  is 
easy  to  see  from  the  way  Mrs.  Purcell  gives 
her  orders  what  sort  of  manager  she  is.  One  of 
the  kind  spoken  of  in  the  Gospels,  whose  heart 
of  a  husband  doth  safely  trust  in  her." 

All  the  while  he  was  shaping  and  shaving  the 
"  prime  roast." 

26 


Dampers 

"  Eight  pounds,  net !  "  he  uttered,  when  the 
job  was  done  to  his  satisfaction.  "  Would  not 
Mrs.  Purcell  prefer  to  have  the  bones  taken  out, 
and  the  roast  skewered  into  a  round?  The  best 
judge  of  roasts  mostly  like  it  that  way.  It  looks 
far  handsomer  when  cooked." 

Mrs.  Purcell's  esthetic  sense  did  not  affect 
the  ungainly  rib-roast.  It  looked,  as  she  told 
John  afterward,  "  sprawling  and  leggy,  with 
those  two  naked  bones  protruding  from  the  red 
meat." 

The  long,  lithe  blade  slashed  beneath  and  above 
the  legginess;  the  bones  were  withdrawn  and 
tossed  upon  a  heap  of  others,  the  meat  was  curled 
up  compactly  and  skewered,  the  artist  dealing 
it  a  complacent  slap  with  the  broad  flat  of  his 
palm. 

"Ain't  it  a  picture?  Mr.  Purcell  will  say  he 
has  never  seen  a  tastier  dish,  nor  set  teeth  into 
a  jucier  and  tenderer.  Charge,  I  hope,  Mrs. 
Purcell?" 

"By  no  means!  "  Martha  took  out  her  purse 
with  the  dignity  of  a  cash  customer.  "  We  con- 
tract no  bills!  How  much  is  it?" 

"  Eight  pounds  at  twenty-two  cents  per — just 
one,  seventy-six,  Mrs.  Purcell." 

"  But  that  was  before  you  took  out  the  bones." 

The  honest  vender  smiled,  patronizingly  supe- 
27 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

rior  to  the  novice.  His  shrug  was  deprecatory 
and  explanatory: 

"  That's  always  done,  Mrs.  Purcell.  We  buy 
the  animal  with  the  bones  in.  Dead  loss  to  us, 
those  bones.  But  what  can  a  man  do?  The 
'  critters  '  are  built  that  way." 

Evidently  her  injunction  as  to  the  trimmings 
had  slipped  his  godlike  mind,  as  it  had  Martha's. 
Yet  she  had  taken  full  notes  of  an  exhaustive 
disquisition  upon  the  value  of  the  stock-pot.  The 
man's  reasoning  seemed  cogent.  The  consumer 
should  share  the  merchant's  loss.  Political  econ- 
omy and  philanthropy  agreed  upon  that.  She 
paid  the  bill,  but  with  a  secret  qualm.  Her 
dinner,  according  to  her  calculations  based  upon 
"  The  Science  of  Marketing  Complete  in  Three 
Lessons,"  was  to  cost  but  two  dollars  in  all. 
The  something  to  be  crowded  out  would  be  the 
raw  oysters.  They  might  be  classed  as  frills  to 
a  family  dinner,  after  all.  John  wouldn't  mind, 
especially  as  the  menu  was  her  secret,  shared  by 
none. 

She  winced  again  at  finding  sweet  potatoes 
were  a  dollar  a  bushel.  The  purchase  of  less  than 
half  a  bushel  did  not  present  itself  to  her  analyt- 
ical imagination.  The  coveted  "  sweets  "  joined 
the  ranks  of  "  Crowded  Outs."  Green  corn  was 
what  to  the  experienced  marketer  would  have 
28 


Dampers 

seemed  ominously  cheap.  A  dime  bought  a  dozen 
ears,  which  were  a  trifle  wilted  and  sere  as  to  the 
husks,  but  since  the  grains  were  to  be  grated  from 
the  cob,  absolute  freshness  was  not  a  sine  qua 
non.  Half  a  dozen  eggs  swallowed  up  the  rest  of 
the  two  dollars.  The  floating  island  must  be  a 
baked  custard.  She  could  not  afford  a  sponge- 
cake for  a  foundation.  Nor — and  the  qualm 
here  was  a  pang — a  can  of  tomatoes  for  the 
cream  soup  she  had  planned.  As  for  the  salad 
and  cream  cheese — they  were  another  "  frill." 
She  was  sure  John  would  agree  with  her  that 
they  would  better  begin  as  they  meant  to  keep  on. 

Like  many  another  John,  this  particular  Bene- 
dick was  fast  falling  into  line  with  Mr.  Jorkins 
of  Dickensian  fame. 

She  hurried  home  at  ten  o'clock,  lest  the 
plumber  might  be  there  before  her.  Of  course 
he  was  not.  Nor  had  he  come  when  she  ate  a 
slice  of  bread  and  butter,  and  washed  it  down 
with  a  glass  of  water  at  lunch-time.  She  had 
been  self -accredited  for  seven  years  with  a  stock 
of  patience  adequate  to  any  force  the  enemy  of 
tender  years  could  bring  against  her. 

By  one  o'clock  she  had  ceased  to  keep  up  to 
her  miserable  self  the  fiction  of  philosophical  at- 
tendance upon  fate.  She  flitted  up  and  down- 
stairs, to  the  back  windows  commanding  Hack- 

29 


The  Distractions  o]  Martha, 

metack  Street,  to  the  front  looking  down  the 
maple-shaded  vista  of  Elderberry  Avenue,  linger- 
ing oftenest  and  longest  in  the  gray-and-blue 
kitchen,  fascinated  against  her  will  by  the  silent 
nightmare  of  a  range,  shining  black  and  stone- 
cold. 

She  was  meditating  a  pusillanimous  telephone 
to  John,  offering  to  meet  him  in  the  ferry-house 
and  dine  with  him  there,  since  nothing  could 
be  cooked  at  home,  when  the  jangle  of  the  door- 
bell produced  a  concussion  of  every  joint  of  her 
vertebrae,  and  sent  her  flying  down  the  stairs. 

It  was  the  plumber — red-faced,  shock-haired, 
shirt-sleeved,  and  tart-tongued  at  the  persistence 
of  her  summons.  She  could  have  fallen  at  his 
feet  and  clasped  his  baggy  knees  at  the  excess 
of  relief  and  gratitude.  Gasping  out  disjointed 
fragments  of  explanation,  she  led  the  way  to  the 
Temple,  and  indicated  the  Shrine  with  a  tragic 
sweep  of  the  arm. 

The  fire  had  been  relaid  artistically.  The  bene- 
factor grunted,  extracted  a  match  from  the 
pocket  of  his  breeches,  and  was  in  the  act  of  strik- 
ing it  upon  the  seat  of  the  same,  when  something 
arrested  eye  and  hand. 

"  Gee-whizz !  "  he  growled.     Then  his  eyes — 
small,  and  beery — travelled  up  the  pipes  at  the 
back  of  the  stove,  and  he  said  "  By  gum !  " 
30 


"I'll  be  gormed  if  I  don't  believe  you  ain't  thought  to  open  one  on  "em." 


Dampers 

He  jerked  savagely  at  two  mysterious  iron 
loops  above  the  oven  door.  Martha  saw  them 
now  for  the  first  time.  Next  he  gave  a  twist 
as  savage  to  two  other  loops  in  the  smoke- 
pipes,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  glowered  grinningly 
at  the  confused  housewife. 

"  I'll  be  gormed  if  I  don't  believe  you  ain't 
thought  to  open  one  on  'em!  How  could  any 
Christyun  fire  do  anything  but  go  out  when 
every  blessed  dra-a-ft  is  shet,  an'  nary  a  damper 
open  ?  Put  it  to  yerself  how  long  you'd  draw  the 
breath  o'  life  if  yer  mouth  an'  yer  nose  was 
stopped  up  tight.  It  beats  the  Jews  how  ignorant 
folks  ken  be!" 


CHAPTER   III 

A    "TOPPED   AND   TAILED"    DINNER 

Talk  of  haircloth  shirts  and  scourgings,  and  sleeping  on  ashes, 
as  means  of  saintship !  There  is  no  need  of  them  in  our  country. 
Let  a  woman  once  look  at  her  domestic  trials  as  her  haircloth,  her 
ashes,  her  scourges — accept  them,  rejoice  in  them,  smile  and  be 
quiet,  silent,  patient  and  loving  under  them — and  the  convent 
can  teach  her  no  more;  she  is  a  victorious  saint ! 

HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 

AT  four  o'clock  John  Purcell  had  a  telephone 
call.  The  voice  at  the  Budfield  end  was  blithe. 

"  Is  that  you,  Jack  ?  I  couldn't  resist  the 
temptation  to  tell  you  that  the  plumber  has  been 
in  and  that  the  range  is  all  right.  The  fire  is 
burning  be-yu-tif ully !  And  I'm  as  happy  as  a 
queen,  and  busy  as  a  hiveful  of  bees." 

"  Good  for  you,  little  girl !  You're  a  brick ! 
I  shall  bring  home  an  A  No.  I  appetite  for  din- 
ner. Only — don't  overwork  yourself!  How's 
the  poor  burnt  hand  ?  " 

"  Almost  well,  thank  you.  I  sha'n't  think  of 
it  now  that  that  wrongheaded  range  has  come 
to  its  senses.  Good-by !  " 

"  He'll  never  think  to  ask  what  the  matter  was 
with  it ! "  she  reflected,  shrewdly,  in  hanging  up 
32 


A  "Topped  and  Tailed"  Dinner 

the  transmitter.  "  I  know  it's  cowardly,  but  I 
would  rather  he  knew  nothing  of  it  just  yet.  One 
comfort  is  he  has  never  heard  of  a  draught  or 
a  damper  any  more  than  I  had.  A  bad  beginning 
may  make  a  good  ending.  Now  for  the  busiest 
three  hours  of  a  busy  life !  " 

She  set  the  table  before  attacking  the  heaviest 
part  of  the  task.  Had  she  ever  helped  prepare 
gooseberries  for  jam  or  jelly,  she  might  have 
bethought  herself  to  call  hers  a  "  topped  and 
tailed  "  feast.  Always  supposing  she  had  pos- 
sessed the  saving  sense  of  humor,  of  which,  as 
I  have  said,  she  was  totally  destitute — more's 
the  pity! 

The  beef — now  emphatically  the  piece  de  re- 
sistance— was  shapely,  even  to  her  unaccustomed 
eyes.  It  was  moist  and  ruddy  and  mottled  artis- 
tically with  snowy  suet.  Recollecting  the  ab- 
stracted ribs,  she  weighed  it.  The  poetical  pro- 
fessorin  was  sternly  practical  in  recommending 
each  pupil  to  include  a  pair  of  accurate  scales 
among  her  kitchen  effects. 

"  Six  pounds,  scant  weight.  That  means  forty- 
four  cents  thrown  away.  I  call  it  Iniquitous!  " 

There  was  no  time  for  nursing  righteous 
wrath.  She  took  down  the  fattest  of  her  plump 
coadjutors.  The  truth  had  flashed  upon  her  that 
she  had  never  seen  a  piece  of  beef  roasted.  How 

33 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

could  it  be  done  in  cooking-lessons  just  sixty 
minutes  long?  Omelets,  salads,  timbales,  chicken 
au  supreme,  breaded  chops,  broiled  birds  and 
steaks — mignon,  Chateaubriand,  a  la  jardiniere, 
with  onions,  with  mushrooms,  with  Bearnaise 
sauce,  au  naturel — oysters  in  twenty  various 
ways,  entrees  innumerable,  and  desserts  by  the 
score,  had  been  concocted  in  her  sight,  and  the 
modus  operandi  punctiliously  transcribed  in  her 
note-book.  The  coarser  and  more  tedious  proc- 
esses of  cookery  were  slurred  over,  as  was  in- 
evitable. A  professor  whose  terms  were  one  dol- 
lar an  hour  for  each  pupil,  could  not  boil  a  leg  of 
mutton  or  roast  a  turkey  as  an  object-lesson  any 
more  reasonably  than  she  could  waste  time  pre- 
paring vegetables.  The  former  must  be  taken 
for  granted;  the  vegetables  must  be  laid  to  her 
hand  ready  for  instant  use.  To  expect  anything 
else  was  like  demanding  instruction  in  the  multi- 
plication table  and  simple  division  from  a  pro- 
fessor in  higher  mathematics.  Rudiments  are 
a  foregone  conclusion. 

And  what  need,  when  Madame  Romaine  had 
prepared  and  published,  and  a  majority  of  her 
disciples  had  paid  for  (discount  of  twenty  per 
cent,  for  teachers) , "  THE  PERFECT  FLOWER 
OF  COOKERY,"  six  hundred  and  eighty  petals 
strong,  bound  in  a  calyx  of  washable  morocco, 
34 


A  "Topped  and  Tailed"  Dinner 

and  illustrated  so  bountifully  and  gorgeously, 
that,  as  more  than  one  mother  testified,  "  children 
cried  for  it  "  ? 

"  Armed  with  this  incomparable  Manual,  an 
intelligent  child  of  ten  may  with  ease  prepare 
a  banquet  fit  for  the  gods — a  veritable  Feast  of 

lyUCUllUS." 

Thus  the  advertisement  that  heralded  the  ad- 
vent of  the  Daniel  Lambert  of  cook-books. 

Martha  turned  the  leaves  until  she  alighted 
upon  "  Weights  and  Measures" 

"  BEEF : — To  roast — rare,  eight  to  ten  min- 
utes per  pound." 

"  I  am  sure  John  likes  it  rare !  "  meditated  the 
wife,  her  head  tipped  thoughtfully  toward  the 
left  shoulder.  "  Ten  minutes  for  each  pound. 
That  would  be  just  one  hour.  I'll  put  it  in  at 
six  o'clock.  Meanwhile,  I'll  make  the  fritters." 

She  looked  to  her  marching-orders: 

"  Two  cupfuls  of  grated  sweet-corn,  or  the 
same  of  canned,  chopped  fine.  Beat  together 
two  eggs,  two  teaspoonfuls  of  melted  butter  and 
half  a  pint  of  milk.  Stir  in  the  corn,  salt  to  taste, 
add  flour  at  discretion,  and  drop  by  the  great 
spoonful  into  deep,  hot  fat.  Drain,  and  serve." 

"  First,  grate  your  corn,"  uttered  Martha, 
reminiscent  of  Mrs.  Glasse  and  the  hare. 

She  hummed  a  merry  tune  in  beginning  the 

35 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

easy  task.  The  cheap  corn  was  tough,  the  with- 
ered grains  yielding  reluctantly  to  the  grater. 
She  laid  to  it  more  muscle,  tearing  down  well 
into  the  cob.  The  dozen  ears  panned  out  two 
ctipfuls  of  damp  chaff.  She  set  it  aside,  cleared 
away  the  debris,  washed  her  hands,  and  forged 
onward. 

"  Next,  melt  the  butter !  " 

Set  upon  the  range,  by  now  roaring  and  red- 
hot,  the  butter  turned  black  while  she  was  break- 
ing the  eggs  into  a  bowl.  A  second  supply  was 
watched  during  the  minute  that  changed  it  to 
oil.  She  poured  it  upon  the  eggs,  added  the  milk 
and  salt,  and  put  in  the  revolving  egg-beater. 

One  energetic  whirl  spattered  the  mixture  into 
her  face.  She  manipulated  it  more  carefully  after 
that;  still  it  slopped  over  occasionally.  Surely 
a  quart  bowl  must  be  large  enough  for  the  mix- 
ing (she  said,  "  the  incorporation  ") — of  half  a 
pint  of  milk,  two  tablespoon  fuls  of  butter  and  a 
couple  of  eggs. 

In  the  very  teeth  of  calm  Reason,  as  the  com- 
pound foamed,  it  dashed  over  the  brim.  It 
would  quiet  down  when  the  corn  went  in.  It  was 
sedate  enough  when  flour  at  discretion  was 
added.  There  was  so  much  of  the  paste  pres- 
ently that  she  wisely  transferred  it  to  another 
bowl.  The  final  vigorous  stir  was  given  at  five 

36 


A  "Topped  and  Tailed"  Dinner 

minutes  of  six.  Being  a  novice,  she  had  taken 
three  times  as  long  in  the  task  as  was  necessary. 
Practice  would  give  her  speed. 

The  song  thrilled  forth  again  as  she  advanced 
upon  the  piece  de  resistance.  It  died  abruptly 
in  the  middle  of  a  bar. 

"If  you  roast  in  the  oven — "  began  the  "  P.  F. 
of  C." 

Where  else,  in  the  name  of  all  that  was  feasible 
and  commonsensible,  could  she  roast  it?  A 
wild  idea  that  it  might  be  cooked  upon  the  red 
plates  of  the  Shrine  assailed  her,  and  was  dis- 
missed as  preposterous.  The  meat  should  be 
cooked  in  the  oven,  willy-nilly. 

In  what  receptacle  ?  was  the  next  query.  Read- 
ing over  the  formula  carefully,  she  came  upon  a 
dark  allusion  to  a  dripping-pan. 

At  her  pupil's  request,  Madame  Romaine  had 
drawn  up  and  given  to  her,  with  her  blessing,  a 
list  of  kitchen  "  must-bes  "  and  "  may-haves." 
Martha's  pot-closet  was  fitted  up  in  strict  con- 
formity to  this  list.  She  knew  each  article  by 
name  and  by  sight,  and  some  by  touch.  She  did 
not  identify  the  title  of  dripping-pan  with  any 
one  of  them.  She  drew,  almost  at  random,  upon 
her  stores,  and  hit  upon  a  biscuit-tin.  The  beef 
went  into  it,  after  the  doubt  as  to  whether  it 
should  lie  on  the  side  or  back  was  dispelled  by 

37 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

reference  to  a  colored  cut  of  "  Roast  Beef,"  face 
uppermost. 

"Don't  wash  it!"  was  an  emphatic  clause  in 
the  code  of  directions.  Otherwise,  she  would 
have  soaked  it,  to  get  rid  of  the  gory  look. 

"  Dash  a  small  cupful  of  boiling  water  over 
it  when  ready  for  roasting,  to  cicatrize  it  and 
retain  the  juices."  She  had  none  ready.  A  low 
growl  from  the  boiler  reminded  her  that  it  was 
getting  hot.  The  small  cup  was  filled  from  the 
faucet.  It  smoked  satisfactorily  in  running  over 
the  embryonic  roast. 

"  Dredge  with  Hour."  Time  was  flying.  Un- 
able to  lay  her  hand  at  once  upon  a  dredger, 
albeit  she  knew  there  was  such  a  thing  upon  her 
list,  she  sprinkled  a  handful  of  flour  over  the 
raw  surface,  sufficient  in  quantity  to  make  a  bis- 
cuit or  two. 

She  put  the  biscuit-tin,  in  which  the  roast  was 
a  close  fit,  into  the  oven,  and  shut  the  door. 

"  Cook  fast  for  ten  minutes  or  so,"  was  the 
next  marching-order.  "  Then,  slacken  the  heat." 

The  temperature  of  the  oven  was  low,  although 
the  fire  was  red  and  roaring;  all  the  draughts 
and  dampers  were  wide  open,  as  the  disdainful 
range-doctor  had  left  them. 

She  read  on: 

"  An  infallible  test  of  baking  and  braising  heat 
38 


A  "Topped  and  Tailed"  Dinner 

is  to  hold  the  bare  arm  in  the  oven.  If  the  heat 
do  not  become  unbearable  while  you  can  count 
twenty,  you  may  safely  commit  bread,  cake,  pud- 
ding or  roast  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  oven." 

Martha  stripped  her  short  sleeve  to  the  shoul- 
der, and  plunged  her  arm  into  the  dark  cavern. 
When  she  had  counted  fifty  she  was  entirely  com- 
fortable. At  seventy-five  she  could  still  hold  her 
arm  in  place  above  the  dredged  roast.  Closing 
the  door,  she  made  test  of  the  other  oven,  counting 
one  hundred  slowly  while  the  bare  arm  was  ex- 
tended to  the  back  of  the  oven. 

She  slammed  the  second  door,  and  stood  up- 
right, staring  at  the  enigmatical  Shrine,  her  fore- 
head puckered,  her  heart  thumping  painfully. 
Her  professor  and  "  The  Perfect  Flower  of  Cook- 
ery "  made  prodigal  use  of  the  terms,  "  a  quick 
oven,"  "  a  moderate  oven,"  "  a  slow  oven,"  "  a 
steady  heat."  How  to  accelerate,  moderate  or 
retard  was  a  professional  secret  she  had  not 
divined. 

"  Tickety-tick !  nibble-nibble !  "  went  the  imper- 
tinent clock.  She  would  do  the  duty  that  lay 
nearest  her  hand.  That  assuredly  was  the  cus- 
tard. A  boiled  custard  it  would  better  be,  in 
view  of  the  unknown  quantities  and  qualities  of 
the  oven.  She  consulted  the  index : 

"  CUSTARD— boiled,  plain— Page  378." 

39 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

"  Four  eggs.  Four  tablespoonfuls  of  sugar — 
granulated.  Vanilla  or  other  flavoring  extract — 
one  teaspoonful.  One  quart  of  fresh  milk." 

ff  Great  heavens! " 

Martha  sat  down  suddenly.  "  The  Perfect 
Flower  of  Cookery,"  grown  all  at  once  too  heavy 
for  her  hand,  fell  to  the  floor,  where  it  lay  upon 
its  back,  the  leaves  spreading  widely  and  idiot- 
ically. 

There  was  not  a  drop  of  milk  in  the  house! 
The  last  of  the  quart  left  in  the  morning  had 
gone  into  the  fritters.  She  had  forgotten  until 
this  minute  that  John  had  drunk  two  glasses  and 
she  one.  She  might  telephone  to  the  grocery  six 
blocks  away,  but  it  could  not  be  there  in  time. 
She  could  not  "  run  around  "  for  it,  as  a  me- 
chanic's wife  might.  She  was  not  dressed  for 
the  street,  and  she  could  not  leave  the  dinner. 
For  a  dessert  John  must,  for  once,  be  content 
with  sweet  wafers.  She  had  laid  in  two  boxes 
for  the  afternoon  teas  that  were  to  give  airy 
grace  to  her  modest  "  entertaining." 

She  picked  up  the  prostrate  "  P.  F.  of  C.,"  and 
turned  again  to  "  BEEF : — To  roast." 

"  Then,  slacken  the  heat."  (That  was  palpa- 
bly needless.)  "  Baste  every  ten  minutes  with 
the  generous  juices  that  ooze  from  the  hot  meat." 

Martha  peeped  into  the  darksome  interior. 
40 


A  "Topped  and  Tailed"  Dinner 

The  beef  loomed  up  like  a  snowball  in  the  half- 
light.  She  touched  it.  It  was  hardly  lukewarm 
under  the  dry  flour. 

"  As  sure  as  I  live,  I'll  put  it  into  a  frying-pan 
if  it  doesn't  brown  in  half  an  hour !  "  cried  the 
woman  of  method,  in  irrational  desperation. 
"  While  I  am  waiting  I'll  fry  the  fritters.  I've 
seen  that  done  often  enough  to  rise  superior  to 
circumstance ! " 

She  fetched  forth  a  deep  saucepan,  filled  it  half- 
way to  the  top  with  lard,  and  set  it  at  the  side 
of  the  range  to  heat  gradually.  In  ten  minutes 
it  began  to  hiss.  The  top  of  the  range  was  hot 
at  least,  if  not  the  ovens.  A  kettle  of  water  was 
boiling  vociferously,  and  the  boiler  over  the  sink 
gurgled  spasmodically,  as  if  it  had  wind  on 
the  stomach.  She  brought  the  saucepan  to  the 
front,  and  prepared  "  to  drop  the  corn  mixture 
by  the  great  spoonful  into  deep,  hot  fat."  The 
fat  was  deep;  the  fat  was  hot.  It  began  to  hiss 
and  bubble  and  splutter  upon  the  red  plate  of  the 
range.  She  dug  the  great  spoon  into  the  stiff 
dough. 

It  had  surely  thickened  since  she  stirred  in 
flour  "  at  discretion !  "  Extricating  a  spoonful 
from  the  gluey  mass  she  tried  to  drop  it.  It 
stuck  fast  and  hard.  She  shook  the  spoon.  The 
contents  fell  heavily  into  the  saucepan.  A  jet 

41 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

of  scalding  fat  shot  upward  and  spread  outward. 
That  which  reached  the  range  blazed  up  with  an 
evil  glare.  The  spray  that  touched  her  bare  arm 
stung  and  scorched  like  a  tongue  of  flame.  When 
she  could  see  for  the  water  pain  drove  to  her 
eyes,  the  deep  fat  was  boiling  to  within  an  inch 
of  the  top  of  the  saucepan,  noisily  and  angrily, 
the  shapeless  fritter  bobbing  up  and  down  in 
it,  and  both  were  as  black  as  coal.  The  Art 
Kitchen  was  full  of  the  smoke  and  stench  of  burn- 
ing grease.  Wrapping  her  hand  in  a  dish-cloth, 
she  seized  the  infernal  thing  and  carried  it  to  the 
sink.  There  she  poured  out  the  pitchy  horror. 

Next  morning  the  coagulated  fat  had  choked 
up  the  escape-pipe.  She  did  not  think  of  that 
danger  in  her  distress.  If  she  had  thought  of  it, 
there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done. 

Ten  minutes  thereafter,  having  covered  the 
burn  with  baking-soda  and  bound  up  her  arm, 
she  heroically  took  another  look  at  the  piece  de 
resistance,  now  indeed  worthy  of  the  distinction. 
The  biscuit-pan  was  quite  hot,  and  odors,  faint 
but  goodly,  stole  from  the  meat.  There  were, 
as  yet,  no  generous  juices,  and  the  flour  on  the 
top  was  still  virgin  white.  She  could  hold  the 
uninjured  arm  in  the  oven  while  she  counted 
eighty.  She  stopped  there. 

The  hateful  clock  had  nibbled  the  hour  down 
42 


A  "Topped  and  Tailed"  Dinner 

to  twenty  minutes.  She  had  laid  out  a  white 
muslin  frock  on  the  bed  upstairs  ready  to  be 
slipped  on  in  half  a  minute  when  she  should  hear 
the  whistle  of  John's  train.  This  accomplished, 
she  would  trip  gayly  down  the  stairs  to  dish  din- 
ner ready  for  serving  by  the  time  her  lover-hus- 
band got  to  the  foot  of  the  porch  steps.  The 
meeting,  just  within  the  vestibule,  screened  by 
vines  from  prying  eyes  across  the  way,  would 
be  to  the  domestic  idyll  in  ten  parts  what  the 
bunch  of  late  roses  she  had  gathered  from  their 
own  yard  was  to  the  table  set  out  with  the  Field- 
ings'  wedding-gift — a  Limoges  dinner-set. 

She  took  in  each  forlorn  feature  of  her  failure 
at  one  swift  glance — the  raw  dough  that  was  like 
untempered  mortar;  the  blackened  saucepan  and 
greasy  sink ;  the  red-hot  range  with  the  lukewarm 
heart. 

Then — I  record  it  with  honest  satisfaction  and 
to  the  credit  of  the  heroine  whom,  I  fear,  the 
reader  is  ready  to  regard  as  but  a  poor  and  weak 
pretender — her  fighting  blood  arose  to  her  help. 


43 


CHAPTER   IV 

JOHN    HAS   A    NOTION 

Up!  let's  trudge  another  mile! 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI. 

JOHN  PURCEU,  had  lunched  upon  a  sandwich 
and  a  cup  of  coffee.  For  one  thing,  it  was  the 
beginning  of  his  busy  season,  and  work  had  ac- 
cumulated mountain-high  while  he  was  off  upon 
his  wedding-trip.  By  taking  this  frugal  meal 
at  his  desk,  he  saved  half  an  hour's  time.  His 
main  motive  in  making  it  frugal  was  the  recol- 
lection of  a  talk  upon  ways  and  means  Martha 
had  held  with  him  yesterday. 

"  We  must  look  out  for  the  little  leaks,  the 
tiny  economies,"  moralized  that  excellent  help- 
meet. "  That  doesn't  mean  petty  saving  and 
scrimping,  by  any  means.  Real  economy  has  a 
dignity  of  its  own.  Madame  Romaine — our  Cu- 
linary Professor,  you  know — never  tired  of  harp- 
ing upon  that  string.  She  illustrated  it  by  a  series 
of  economical  entrees  one  week.  It  is  amazing 
how  much  can  be  saved  and  utilized  to  advantage 
in  a  household  where  every  one  has  a  system  of 
44 


John  Has  a  Notion 

never  spending  a  dollar  when  a  quarter  can  be 
made  to  do  as  well." 

John  paid  twenty  cents  for  coffee  and  sand- 
wich. 

He  called  the  sum  "  an  inside  price  "  to  him- 
self, chuckling  while  he  swallowed  it.  There  was 
a  good  deal  of  his  anatomy,  all  told — six  feet  in 
one  direction — and  the  twenty  cents'  worth  of 
sustenance  did  not  go  far  toward  filling  him  up. 
He  was  rather  glad  of  his  canine  hunger  as  he 
jumped  from  the  train  at  ten  minutes  after  seven. 
There  had  been  a  detention  on  the  line  that  lost 
a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Glad,  because  he  could 
do  more  and  unfeigned  justice  to  the  tiptop  din- 
ner his  jewel  of  a  wife  would  have  ready  for 
him. 

"  Somehow  or  other,  I've  a  notion  that  she'll 
have  roast  beef  to-night,"  he  ruminated  in  the 
rapid  walk  that  made  him  happier  and  hungrier 
at  every  step.  "  It  may  be  instinct,  or  telepathy 
— or  maybe  because  I  know  she  knows  what  I 
like  in  that  line.  And  if  ever  there  was  a  hus- 
band-spoiler, that  blessed  little  girl  of  mine  is 
one.  I'm  the  luckiest  dog  alive !  " 

He  took  the  three  steps  of  the  veranda  at  a 
bound,  and  let  himself  into  the  house.  An  odor 
that  was  not  the  wooing  exhalation  of  roast  beef 
hung  in  the  air.  He  knew  it,  and  mentally  classi- 

45 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

fied  it  as  the  "  boarding-house  smell."  It  was 
really  the  impression  left  upon  the  air  by  scorched 
fat  when  the  smell  had  cooled  off.  Involuntarily, 
John  resented  the  association  of  it  with  his  newly 
made  paradise.  Loyally  putting  down  the  feel- 
ing, he  called, — "Little  girl!  Patty!  Sweet- 
heart!" 

There  was  a  swift  patter  of  heels  upon  the 
floor  overhead,  a  rush  and  swish  of  draperies  on 
the  stairs,  and  the  representative  of  the  three  pet 
names  was  in  his  arms.  Panting  and  flushed 
from  speed  or  excitement,  she  put  up  a  smiling 
mouth  to  kiss  him.  She  had  on  the  white  gown, 
one  of  the  late  roses  was  in  her  belt,  and  the 
flavor  of  cold  calcined  fat  was  in  her  hair.  John 
was  a  practical  man,  but  he  had  ideals,  and  one 
sustained  a  faint  but  distinct  shock  as  he  noticed 
the  "  boarding-house  smell  "  he  hoped  he  had  left 
behind  him  forever.  He  fought  it  as  he  would 
have  "  downed  "  a  sin. 

"  A  bit  late !  "  he  said,  blithely.  "  No  motive 
for  it  except  a  locomotive.  Have  I  damaged 
dinner?  " 

"Not  in  the  least!"  She  would  not  let  the 
words  stick  in  her  throat.  "  In  fact,  things  are  a 
little  behindhand  at  this  end  of  the  line.  Run 
up  and  get  rid  of  business  dust.  You'll  find  me 
in  the  dining-room  when  you  come  down." 
46 


John  Has  a  Notion 

He  found  the  chafing-dish  there  also.  As  he 
entered,  his  wife  turned  an  omelet  out  of  it  upon 
a  hot  dish.  It  stuck  in  the  middle  and  at  both 
ends,  refusing  obstinately  to  fold  over,  landing 
in  a  discomfited  heap  at  one  side  of  the  platter. 
Martha  bit  her  lip. 

"  '  The  total  depravity  of  inanimate  things ! ' 
she  quoted.  "  Luckily,  breakages  won't  affect 
the  taste.  It's  a  cheese  omelet,  my  dear  boy!  I 
recollect  your  calling  for  one,  the  first  restaurant 
supper  we  ever  took  together.  Sit  down — please ! 
You  must  know  that  while  the  fire  burns  furi- 
ously in  the  range-grate,  the  ovens  are  so  slow 
that  the  beef  I  put  into  the  hotter  of  the  two 
won't  be  done  before  midnight." 

"  Ah,  I  was  thinking  you'll  recollect  my  liking 
for  roast  beef ! "  struck  in  John  from  his  end  of 
the  table. 

He  had  taken  up  the  carving-knife,  and  was 
whetting  it  mechanically.  Somehow,  the  action 
had  pathos  in  it  for  the  wife.  She  plunged  ahead, 
valiantly : 

"  So,  as  I  knew  my  poor  darling  would  not 
wait  that  long  for  his  dinner,  I  thought  I'd  toss 
up  an  omelet,  and  make  a  cup  of  strong  coffee 
for  him.  Do  you  know,  those  roses  grew  on  one 
of  our  very  own  bushes?  I  discovered  it  in  a 
corner  of  the  yard.  There's  a  row  of  chrysan- 

47 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

themums  there,  too,  all  in  full  bud,  that  will  keep 
us  in  flowers  for  the  table  until  frost  kills  them." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  John,  pluckily,  albeit  absent- 
minded.  "  That's  capital !  " 

"  I'm  rather  ashamed  of  the  toast !  "  regretted 
Martha.  "  It  caught  a  little  on  the  edges.  But 
the  top  of  that  evil-minded  range  is  red-hot. 
Help  yourself  to  fried  potatoes ! " 

"  That's  bully !  "  quoth  John,  shovelling  some 
into  his  plate.  They  rattled  drearily  in  his  ears. 
He  thought  of  dead  leaves. 

Martha  hoped  he  might  think  that  she  had 
cooked  them.  Whereas,  he  knew  the  cut  and 
taste  of  Saratoga  chips  as  well  as  if  he  had  seen 
her  turn  them  into  the  frying-pan  out  of  a  whitey- 
brown  paper  bag,  and  shake  them  frantically 
over  the  oft-mentioned  red-hot  range,  the  minute 
the  grocer's  boy,  obedient  to  a  "  rush  order  "  by 
telephone,  had  handed  them  in  at  the  back  door. 

The  coffee  was  drinkable — barely — yet  really 
not  so  bad  for  a  first  attempt  in  a  new  block-tin 
pot  that  had  not  been  previously  seasoned  by  half 
a  day's  simmer  on  the  side  of  the  stove.  The 
omelet  was  bitter  in  spots,  with  the  peculiar  nau- 
seating bitterness  of  burned  eggs.  John  ate  a 
double  portion  of  it,  and  kicked  himself  in  im- 
agination for  recalling  a  story  he  had  heard  his 
landlady  tell  of  an  "  airish  "  Hibernian,  but  "  six 
48 


John  Has  a  Notion 

months  in  the  country,"  who  complained  to  her 
mistress,  after  devouring  six  eggs  for  breakfast, 
that  "  the  mate  corner  of  her  stomach  wasn't 
full."  He  took  a  second  cup  of  coffee,  getting 
the  dregs  of  the  pot  in  it,  and  put  the  spoon  in 
the  saucer  with  the  obvious  expression  of  one  who 
waited  for  the  next  course. 

Martha  pushed  a  plate  of  vanilla  wafers  to- 
ward him — a  species  of  pseudo-sweet  for  which 
he  chanced  to  have  a  special  aversion,  considering 
it  as  nothing  more  than  desiccated  mucilage, 
sweetened  and  stamped  in  a  crisscross  pattern. 
As  he  crunched  one  between  his  teeth,  his  wife 
remarked,  with  the  heroic  sprightliness  she  had 
maintained  throughout  the  repast, — "  Blame  the 
oven,  not  me,  for  the  lack  of  a  better  dessert.  I 
had  meditated  a  lovely  baked  custard." 

"  I  say !  "  bolting  the  wretched  remnant  of  the 
mucilaginous  mockery  with  an  effort,  "  I've  a 
great  mind  to  interview  that  rascally  range  when 
I've  done — supper! " 

The  palpable  hesitation  in  putting  a  name  to 
the  phantom  of  a  meal  went  to  the  listener's 
soul. 

"  You  see,  Patty —  If  you've  finished  supper, 
maybe  you  won't  mind  if  I  light  a  cigar  ?  Thank 
you!" 

With  an  air  of  one  who  salutes  a  familiar 

49 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

friend  in  a  strange  land,  he  pulled  lovingly  upon 
the  lighted  weed  for  twenty  seconds  or  there- 
abouts, before  resuming  speech. 

"  You  see,  I  happened  this  morning  to  men- 
tion to  Sam  Fair,  who  goes  down  on  my  train, 
that  you  were  having  the  dickens  of  a  time  with 
your  range,  and  he  put  me  next  to  a  fact  or 
two  about  cooking-stoves  and  such.  Did  the 
plumber  examine  the  draughts  and  dampers 
and  all  that?" 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  Martha,  faintly,  beginning  to 
collect  plates  and  cups  preparatory  to  washing 
them.  "  They  are  all  right." 

"  Hm-m-m !  I  had  a  notion  the  trouble  might 
be  there.  Sam  is  quite  a  draughtsman  in  an  ama- 
teur way,  with  a  genius  for  mechanics.  He  did 
it  all  out  for  me  on  paper,  and  made  it  so  plain 
I  could  almost  run  a  range  myself.  I  guess  " — 
pushing  his  chair  back — "  since  you  have  got  to 
be  there  anyway,  I'll  go  into  the  kitchen  and 
tackle  your  enemy.  Here!  Give  me  that  tray! 
You  don't  suppose  I'm  going  to  let  you  carry  it !  " 

The  fire  in  the  grate  was  still  red  and  it  still 
roared.  Martha  had  fed  it  with  two  scuttlefuls 
of  coal  that  afternoon.  Preceding  her  husband 
she  threw  open  the  oven  door  with  dramatic 
effect.  The  floury  top-dressing  was  coloring  in 
patches  in  absorbing  "  generous  juices."  As 

50 


She  threw  open  the  oven  door  with  dramatic  effect. 


John  Has  a  Notion 

much  of  the  meat  as  was  still  visible  below  what 
looked  like  a  rakish  nightcap,  was  of  a  sickly 
russet. 

John  sniffed  audibly,  stooping  to  look  into 
the  cave.  "  Smells  good,  and  very  natural.  How 
long  ought  it  to  cook?  " 

A  wild  hope  caused  the  "  meat  corner "  to 
throb  yearningly. 

"  If  one  would  have  it  rare,  from  eight  to  ten 
minutes  a  pound,"  recited  Martha.  "  That  piece 
of  meat  weighs  six  pounds.  It  has  been  in  the 
oven  for  two  hours.  And  I  can  bear  my  naked 
arm  in  there  while  I  could  count — a  thousand! 
Oh,  Jack !  I  meant  to  have  such  a  delicious  dinner 
for  you!  And  to  be  foiled  by  that — mindless 
mass  of  metal !  " — alliterative  from  force  of  habit. 
"I  can't  bear  it!" 

She  seldom  cried,  but  nerves  and  tears  had 
been  having  their  way  all  day,  and  had  left  the 
conduits  open. 

"Don't  give  way,  sweetheart!  There'll  be 
hundreds  of  days  when  everything  will  go 
straight — in  spite  of  this  dirty  devil!" 

He  raised  a  foot,  and  deliberately  dealt  the 
alliterative  offending  cause  a  kick. 

Martha  laughed  hysterically.  "  How  silly  you 
are!" 

But  she  felt  better  for  the  outbreak  of  indig- 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

nant  sympathy.  His  next  movement  was  to  draw 
up  a  chair  and  seat  himself  in  front  of  the 
enemy. 

"  We'll  fight  it  out  on  this  line  if  it  takes  all 
summer,  you  despicable  destroyer  of  domestic 
peace ! " 

He  pulled  a  folded  paper  from  his  vest-pocket, 
and  studied  it  for  a  long  minute. 

"  By  George !  "  he  cried,  so  sharply  that  Mai> 
tha  let  a  soap-shaker  fall  into  the  water  she  was 
churning  into  suds.  "  That  fellow  in  the  stove- 
pipe ought  to  be  turned  crossways,  and  it's 
straight  up  and  down!  And  so's  the  one  in  the 
other  pipe.  All  the  heat  is  going  up  the  chim- 
ney. And  those  two  scamps  directly  over  the 
ovens  should  be  pushed  in,  instead  of  being 
drawn  out  to  their  full  length !  " 

He  jumped  up,  and,  in  his  own  lingo,  "  went 
for  them,"  as  much  excited  as  if  he  had  struck 
oil.  Then  he  reseated  himself  and  set  a  watch. 
Martha  was  grateful  for  anything  that  promised 
solution  of  her  perplexity,  and  a  new  sensation 
was  stealing  into  her  analytical  mind.  Her  hus- 
band would  make  himself  master  of  a  situation 
that  had  baffled  her.  Was  she  to  be  outgeneralled 
on  her  own  ground? 

"  I  say,  Patty !  "  called  John  presently,  pull- 
ing open  the  oven  door,  "  bring  that  nude  arm 

52 


John  Has  a  Notion 

of  yours  along  here,  and  test  the  humor  of  this 
party ! " 

Before  she  could  wipe  her  hands  from  the 
dish-water,  she  heard  the  hiss,  and  scented  the 
breath  of  hot  meat. 

"  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight, 
nine,  ten,  eleven ! "  she  counted,  her  arm  over 
the  smoking  roast.  "  Ugh! "  She  jerked  it 
out. 

"  Hot— at  last— eh?  "  chuckled  John.  "  We've 
solved  the  mystery.  I  say!  I'm  going  to  eat 
some  of  that  beef  before  I  sleep.  I  am  hungry 
enough  to  bolt  an  ox  and  pick  my  teeth  with  his 
horns.  Let  the  good  work  go  on !  " 

Martha  caught  his  hand  as  he  was  about  to 
slam  the  oven  door.  "  It  ought  to  be  basted !  " 

"  Eh !  "  stared  John,  dropping  his  jaw. 

"  Basted !  "  she  repeated,  again  rising  superior 
to  the  novice.  "  Madame  Romaine  told  us  a 
funny  story  of  a  woman — a  married  woman — 
who  thought  basting  must  involve  the  use  of 
needle  and  thread.  Now,  look  and  learn !  " 

She  scooped  up  a  scant  spoonful  of  "  generous 
juice,"  and  poured  it  upon  the  blackening  bis- 
cuit on  top  of  the  roast.  It  hissed  and  was 
sucked  up  before  it  could  trickle  to  the  exposed 
sides  of  the  meat.  A  second  spoonful  shared  the 
same  fate.  There  was  barely  enough  liquid  for 

53 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

a  third,  but  it  followed  the  others.  Martha  closed 
the  oven  and  finished  washing  plates  and  cups. 
When  she  had  carried  them  to  the  dining-room, 
another  fifteen  minutes  had  gone.  The  basting 
was  to  be  repeated  at  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  should  the  meat  be  cooking  fast. 

John  smacked  his  lips  expectantly  on  seeing 
her  approach,  spoon  in  hand.  He  shut  them 
tightly  to  keep  in  an  exclamation  of  dismay  at 
the  smoke  and  smell  which  rushed  from  the 
opened  throat  of  the  oven.  The  "  biscuit "  had 
burned  to  a  cindery  crust;  the  generous  juices 
were  evaporating  so  fast  that  they  glazed  the 
bottom  of  the  pan. 

"  It  must  be  done!  "  decided  husband  and  wife 
in  a  breath. 

John  pushed  Martha  aside,  laid  hold  of  the 
pan,  let  it  go  with  an  ejaculation  more  hot  than 
holy,  and  danced  about  the  floor  with  three  fin- 
gers and  a  thumb  in  his  mouth,  while  the  intrepid 
cook  wrapped  her  hand  in  a  damp  towel,  extri- 
cated pan  and  meat  from  the  torrid  zone,  and 
transported  it  to  the  temperate  region  of  the 
zinc-topped  table. 

She  left  it  there,  smoking  like  a  sacrificial  altar, 
while  she  bound  up  John's  blisters  with  linseed- 
oil  and  lime-water. 

"How  happened  you  to  have  it  so  handy?" 
54 


John  Has  a  Notion 

queried  he,  relaxing  his  contorted  features  when 
the  pain  abated. 

"  I  bought  a  bottle  this  forenoon  while  I  was 
out." 

The  white  gown  was  long-sleeved,  and  the 
chain  of  red  spots  where  the  hot  fat  had  sprayed 
her  arm  showed  through  but  indistinctly. 

"  Provident  little  woman ! "  said  admiring 
John.  Then — "  Now,  I  say — I'm  going  to  have 
a  hack  at  that  beef,  if  only  to  get  the  better  of  it. 
We'll  have  a  lark,  and  eat  it  out  here.  Your 
kitchen  is  prettier  than  most  people's  parlors. 
Get  plates  and  things  while  I  go  for  the  carver. 
Ha!  minion!  I  will  have  my  revenge!"  shak- 
ing his  fist  at  the  "  prime  roast." 

One  slash  struck  off  the  blackened  nightcap, 
revealing  a  pale,  sodden  surface.  A  second  cut 
laid  bare  a  purple  heart  just  warmed  through, 
reddish  circles  about  it  shading  into  a  charred 
rim.  The  beef  was  raw  in  the  middle ;  the  outside 
was  done  to  a  crisp. 

Stout-hearted  John  held  to  his  purpose  of 
eating  a  slice  of  it.  Martha,  sick  in  soul  and 
jaded  in  body,  got  bread  and  butter,  pepper,  salt, 
mustard  and  pickles,  and  would  brew  him  a  glass 
of  tea-punch.  She  further  humored  him  by  let- 
ting him  lay  a  slice  of  the  roast  upon  her  plate, 
and  forced  herself  to  swallow  a  few  morsels. 

55 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Even  John  could  not  pretend  to  like  what  she 
characterized  to  herself  as  the  "  forlorn  hope  of 
the  Might-have-been." 

It  was  hopelessly  unpalatable — a  fitting  climax 
i  to  a  Day  of  Disasters — the  first  day's  work  in 
her  Art  Kitchen. 


It  was  hopelessly  unpalatable — a  fitting  climax  to  a  Day  of  Disasters. 


CHAPTER  V 

WHAT  MAY    BE   DONE  WITH   A  CALF'S   HEAD 

There  is  such  a  choice  of  difficulties  that  I  own  myself  at  a 
loss  how  to  determine.  JAMES  WOLFE. 

"  THE  possibilities  of  a  Calf's  Head  are  mani- 
fold," read  Martha  aloud  from  "The  Perfect 
Flower  of  Cookery." 

She  was  alone  in  the  kitchen  and  in  the  house. 
Rising  before  the  sun,  she  had  followed  up  her 
rapid  toilet  by  a  series  of  well-planned  and,  in  the 
main,  successful  advances  upon  the  adverse  con- 
ditions which  had  routed  her  twenty-four  hours 
earlier. 

To  begin  with,  she  had  succeeded  in  keeping 
the  fire  in  all  night.  The  success  would  tell  upon 
the  coal-bin,  but  she  did  not  care  for  that — yet! 
Before  going  to  bed  she  had  stolen  downstairs, 
with  her  hair  done  up  in  a  sweeping-cap,  taken 
up  cinders  and  ashes,  put  on  a  scuttleful  of  fresh 
coal,  closed  the  draughts  and  shut  the  dampers, 
leaving  the  door  below  the  range  slightly  ajar, 
that  the  fire  might  not  quite  smother.  She  was 

57 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

an  apt  pupil,  and  the  day's  lessons  had  been 
severe. 

When  John  came  downstairs  she  had  fruit  and 
cereal,  toast  and  grilled  breakfast  bacon  for  him. 
Her  complexion  was  muddied  by  range-heat,  and 
her  eyes  were  thoughtful.  Her  mien  was  that 
of  one  who  foresaw  heavy  and  unexpected  respon- 
sibilities and  was  summoning  her  best  forces  to 
meet  them. 

John  made  talk  over  the  table,  and  she  was  not 
a  bad  second.  He  saw  nothing  amiss,  and  went 
off  with  a  whistle  upon  his  lips  and  a  rosebud  in 
his  buttonhole.  He  knew  nothing  of  the  ordered 
Calf's  Head.  If  he  had  he  would  have  trusted 
in  the  "  little  woman  to  fix  it  up  shipshape." 
His  faith  in  her  ability  to  conquer  circumstances 
was  still  sound.  Martha  had  forgotten  the 
"  THING  "  until  it  was  brought  into  the  gray- 
and-blue  kitchen  and  thumped  out  of  the  butcher 
boy's  basket  upon  the  table  where  she  stood  cut- 
ting up  the  wretched  remnant  of  the  costly  roast 
to  make  croquettes  for  dinner. 

The  "P.  F.  of  C."  was  propped  open  before 
her  at  "  ENTREES— BEEF."  With  an  elegant 
carver  that  was  a  wedding  present,  she  was  hew- 
ing the  meat — black  at  the  edges,  richly  red  at 
heart — into  slabs  and  hunks.  Chopping-tray  and 
knife  were  in  readiness. 

58 


Martha  had  forgotten  the  "THING"  until  it  was  brought  into  the 
gray-and-blue  kitchen. 


What  May  Be  Done  with  a  Calfs  Head 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  she  said,  sharply,  as  the  lad 
tumbled  his  burden  out  of  the  basket. 

"  The  Head ! "  he  answered,  as  brusquely. 
"  Jus'  come  in  on  train  from  town." 

"  I  see !    I  had  forgotten  the  order." 

"We  hain't!" 

He  pitched  the  empty  hamper  up  to  the  ceiling, 
caught  it  in  one  hand  on  the  way  down,  and 
swaggered  out  with  it  on  his  head,  helmet-wise. 
He  was  a  disagreeable  boy.  She  had  seen  hun- 
dreds of  them  in  school,  and  had  made  for  herself 
a  reputation  in  training  them  into  better  manners. 
His  manners  were  less  than  nothing  to  her  as 
the  Head  confronted  her.  She  did  not  recollect 
that  she  had  ever  seen  one  raw  I  before  at  such 
close  quarters.  It  was  certain  that  she  had  not 
expected  it  to  look  so  dead  I  Its  aspect  of  cadav- 
erous clamminess  was  a  positive  and  personal 
affront  to  her  sensibilities.  When  she  compelled 
herself  to  take  it  up  and  deposit  it  in  the  middle 
of  a  platter  she  thought  of  John  the  Baptist  and 
the  charger. 

She  went  on  cutting  the  meat,  her  eyes  stray- 
ing continually,  by  a  weird  fascination,  to  the 
OBJECT!  lying  there  in  frozen  calm,  peering 
at  her  through  the  slits  left  by  lashless  eyelids. 
She  could  have  believed  that  it  smirked  at  her 
with  the  wide,  smug  mouth.  She  dropped  the 

59 


The  Distractions  o]  Martha 

carver  and  seized  the  charger,  bore  it  off  to  the 
refrigerator,  and  shut  it  out  of  sight  until  she 
should  get  the  mince  off  her  mind. 

This  last  was  not  so  easy  as  it  sounds.  The 
beef  may  have  been  tender  when  it  entered  the 
oven.  It  was  toughened,  first,  by  slow  heat,  then 
by  rapid  cooking,  and  the  "  P.  F.  of  C."  said 
naught  of  hewing  away  cinder  and  crust  and 
cutting  it  into  dice  before  consigning  it  to  the 
tray.  Slabs  and  hunks  resisted  the  chopper. 
Every  upward  motion  of  the  blade  brought  up 
an  adherent  morsel — sometimes  small,  some- 
times large.  It  was  only  by  dint  of  holding  the 
pieces  down  with  one  hand  while  she  chopped 
with  the  other  that  she  accomplished  the  task. 
One  hour  was  consumed  thus,  and  her  arm  ached 
to  the  shoulder  when  the  mince  was  finally  sea- 
soned, pressed  firmly  into  a  bowl,  and  put  away 
to  await  afternoon  treatment.  She  had  "  read 
up  "  diligently  upon  croquettes  before  deciding 
in  what  toothsome  form  the  uncomely  left-over 
should  reappear.  Failure  in  fritters  need  not 
presage  failure  in  all  fried  foods. 

Loath  to  waste  anything  that  might  be  made 
edible,  she  had  mentally  recast  the  stiff  paste 
that  was  to  have  been  corn- fritters — a  de-appe- 
tizing  mess  in  the  light  of  day.  A  croquette  din- 
ner would  not  be  a  bad  idea,  and  be  excellent 
60 


What  May  Be  Done  with  a  Calfs  Head 

practice,  besides.     Furthermore,  it  would  be  a 
means  of  retrieving  the  waste  of  yesterday. 

Nothing  daunted  by  past  disasters,  she  wrote 
down  her  new  programme  while  John's  kiss  was 
warm  upon  her  mouth: 

Soup  of  Some  Kind 

(After  the  apparition  of  the  butcher's  boy  she  specified 
"Mock-Turtle") 
Beef  Croquettes 
Corn  Croquettes 

Potatoes  Cut  Round  and  Boiled  Whole 

Lettuce-and-Egg  Salad — the  Yolks  Left  Entire 

Fried  Bananas 

Coffee 

"  Frugality  is  not  inconsistent  with  elegance !  " 
was  a  stock  motto  with  Madame  Romaine.  Her 
pupil  made  a  rapid  computation.  Beef,  corn, 
potatoes  and  coffee  in  the  house.  Likewise,  eggs. 
Lettuce — one  head — three  cents;  six  bananas 
would  cost  six  cents. 

"  Nine  cents  outlay  for  to-day  will  reduce 
the  average  sensibly,"  murmured  the  Manager, 
complacently.  This  was  conquering  circum- 
stances. She  carolled  in  making  up  beds  and 
washing  dishes,  even  in  slashing  the  obdurate 
meat — until  the  Head  was  thrust  upon  her. 

A  troubled  reverie  ended,  as  we  have  seen,  in 
61 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

reference  to  the  Inimitable,  because  Perfect, 
Flower. 

"  The  possibilities  of  a  Calf's  Head  are  mani- 
fold," opened  new  and  tempting  vistas.  She 
went  on  with  rising  hopes  of  further  reductions 
on  the  Average.  "  The  liquor  in  which  it  is 
boiled  makes  delicious  soup.  One  half  of  the 
meat  stripped  from  the  bones  while  hot  can  be 
breaded  and  baked  in  a  mould;  the  other  half 
may  be  made  into  *  Imitation  Tortue ' — an  ex- 
cellent imitation  of  the  far-famed  Maryland  ter- 
rapin ;  savory  croquettes  are  made  of  the  brains, 
and  the  tongue,  with  seasoned  vinegar  poured 
over  it  while  hot,  is  a  nice  luncheon  titbit." 

The  Average  came  down  on  the  run.  From 
an  amorphous  Calf's  Head,  for  which  she  was 
to  pay  fifty  cents,  could  be  evolved  palatable 
dishes  for  three  days !  This  was  liberal  living  on 
narrow  means,  such  as  the  illiterate  and  unsys- 
tematic drudges  of  flats  and  tenement-houses 
recked  not  of.  For  one  reckless  instant  she 
aspired  to  add  an  entree  of  brain  croquettes  to 
today's  dinner.  Prudence  reined  in  ambition. 
She  would  content  herself  with  the  soup,  and 
husband  possibilities. 

"  It  cannot  be  sufficiently  deplored  that  the 
devotees  of  '  plain  roast,  boiled  and  fried '  do 
not  acquaint  themselves  with  the  merits  of  a 
62 


What  May  Be  Done  with  a  Calf's  Head 

cheap  article  which  is  susceptible  of  so  many 
and  such  dainty  variations." 

First  upon  the  list  of  the  variations  was : 

"  CALF'S  HEAD  SOUP,  POPULARLY  KNOWN 

AS   MOCK-TURTLE" 

"  Put  the  Head  over  the  fire  in  six  quarts  of 
cold  water,  and  boil  until  the  meat  leaves  the 
bones  of  its  own  accord.  To  test  this,  take  up 
the  Head  with  a  pair  of  meat-tongs,  or  between 
two  great  spoons,  and  transfer  to  a  broad  platter. 
Shake  gently  to  dislodge  the  flesh;  pick  out  the 
denuded  bones,  and  return  to  the  soup-pot. 

(Mem. :  Set  aside  the  meat  until  next  day  for 
the  various  uses  designated  at  the  beginning  of 
this  chapter.  Do  not  forget  to  pour  hot  spiced 
vinegar  over  the  tongue.) 

"  Cut  off  the  ears,  and  chop  them  fine.  Add 
them  to  the  boiling  soup  with  a  sliced  onion 
(fried  in  butter),  a  grated  carrot,  a  bunch  of 
soup-herbs  minced,  a  cupful  of  strained  tomatoes, 
a  teaspoonful  of  Kitchen  Aroma,  juice  of  a  lemon 
and  a  tablespoonful  of  the  grated  rind.  Salt 
and  paprika  to  taste.  Simmer  all  together  until 
the  liquid  is  reduced  one-third. 

"  Then  take  from  the  fire,  remove  the  bones 
with  care,  and  let  the  soup  get  cold.  It  should 

63 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

be  of  jelly-like  consistency.  Skim  off  all  the 
fat  (and  save  for  dripping).  Add  a  great  spoon- 
ful of  butter  rubbed  in  same  of  browned  flour; 
season  further  with  a  glass  of  sherry  and  a  tea- 
spoonful  of  allspice  and  one  of  mace.  Stir  for 
five  minutes,  and  pour  upon  a  thinly  sliced  lemon 
in  the  bottom  of  the  tureen. 

"  You  may  improve  this  superb  soup  by  the 
addition  of  small  cubes  of  the  meat — say  a  cup- 
ful— or  forcemeat  balls  made  of  the  brains,  or 
the  yolks  of  six  eggs  extracted  carefully  from 
the  whites  and  dropped  into  the  tureen  with  the 
translucent  slices  of  lemon.  A  few  truffles  are 
not  amiss." 

"  Sounds  c?<?-lic-ious  and  altogether  practica- 
ble ! "  concluded  our  housewife,  and  propping 
the  book  open  at  the  right  place,  she  set  herself  to 
compound  the  far-famed  delicacy.  The  water 
was  measured,  the  Head  slidden  into  it,  the  eye- 
slits  expressive  of  languid  reproach  as  it  sank 
out  of  sight.  She  fitted  the  cover  to  the  pot, 
set  it  in  place  on  the  range,  and  washed  her 
hands  in  warm  water. 

"  The  Thing  was  so  horribly  corpsey! "  she 
muttered. 

The  "  P.  F.  of  C."  said  nothing  of  the  time 
of  boiling.  It  should  certainly  be  done  in  an 
hour,  said  Reason. 

64 


What  May  Be  Done  with  a  Calfs  Head 

Just  sixty  minutes  by  the  clock,  from  the  mo- 
ment of  sliding  the  cadavre  into  the  pot,  she  i 
descended  to  the  kitchen,  lifted  the  caldron  to  the 
table,  and  in  default  of  a  pair  of  meat-tongs 
(whatever  they  might  be)  grappled  the  Head 
between  two  big  iron  spoons,  and  tugged. 

The  possessed  Casket  of  so  many  good  things  \ 
slipped  its  moorings  six  times  and  splashed  back 
sullenly.  At  the  seventh  tug  she  landed  it  upon 
the  broad  platter.  Thinking  of  Robert  Bruce, 
she  fitted  the  grappling  apparatus  upon  the  jowls, 
lifted  the  Head  clear  of  the  platter,  and  shook 
it  gently  to  dislodge  the  flesh.  Once — twice — 
three  times  was  the  operation  repeated.  Then 
she  shook  it  hard — at  the  seventh  repetition,  vio- 
lently. Beech  bark  never  adhered  more  obsti- 
nately to  growing  wood  than  that  Thing's  flesh 
to  its  bone.  The  eye-slits  were  tight  wrinkles 
by  now.  Otherwise,  there  was  no  change  in  its 
aspect,  except  that  it  steamed  as  she  shook  it. 
Returning  it  to  the  fire,  she  let  it  boil  thirty  min- 
utes longer.  By  that  time  it  began  to  give  forth 
a  goodly  smell.  The  grappling-irons  held  at  the 
third  attempt,  but  the  flesh  resisted  seven  hard 
shakes.  Seventy  times  seven  would  not  have 
loosened  its  hold.  Convinced  of  this,  Martha 
dumped  it  petulantly  back  into  the  pot,  conclud- 
ing that  this  must  have  been  an  old  calf  and 

65 


The  Distractions  0}  Martha 

tough,  and  resolving  to  speak  her  mind  to  the 
suspiciously  civil  butcher  at  her  next  visit  to 
his  shop.  It  had  been  "  in  "  two  hours  when  she 
made  the  next  unsuccessful  trial.  At  half-past 
twelve,  three  hours  and  a  half  after  the  wretched 
Pest  made  its  first  dive  into  the  pot,  the  flesh 
yielded  to  the  grasp  of  the  long-enduring  spoons, 
and  collapsed,  a  gelatinous  and  quivering  mass, 
upon  the  platter,  the  bones  making  a  ghastly 
show  among  the  ruins. 

At  one  o'clock  the  soup  was  simmering  com- 
fortably upon  the  range,  with  bones  and  chopped 
ears,  sliced  onion  (fried  an  hour  ago),  tomato 
and  lemon-juice  and  other  et  ceteras  in  it.  The 
meat  was  cooling  upon  the  laundry-table  prepara- 
tory to  consignment  to  the  refrigerator,  and  a 
woman,  weary  in  body  but  thankful  in  spirit, 
was  eating  at  the  kitchen  table  a  luncheon  of 
Veata-Beater  and  milk.  She  had  meant  to  poach 
an  egg  and  to  eat  it  with  a  slice  of  toast,  but  it 
was  "  not  worth  while."  Women  never  cook 
for  themselves.  Tea  and  toast  are  the  chief  of 
spinsters'  and  widows'  diet.  Martha  had 
"  ideas "  on  dietetics,  and  eschewed  tea.  She 
esteemed  herself  a  broad,  rather  than  a  narrow- 
minded  woman,  and  when  she  analyzed  the  su- 
preme complacency  that  possessed  her  soul  be- 
cause the  meat  had  slipped  from  the  bones,  she 
66 


What  May  Be  Done  with  a  Calf's  Head 

set  it  down  to  wifely  regard.  She  did  want  to 
be  a  good  wife  to  the  best  husband  alive,  and  a 
man  must  be  well  fed  or  he  cannot  keep  healthy, 
useful  and  happy. 

She  washed  her  cereal-bowl,  put  it  away,  and 
peeped  at  the  soup.  There  had  been  two  quarts 
of  it  when  it  was  put  over  the  fire  to  simmer. 
When  reduced  one  third  there  would  be  three 
pints.  She  would  measure  it  now,  to  make  sure 
that  all  was  going  on  well.  A  quarter  of  a  cup- 
ful had  boiled  away.  At  this  rate  it  would  be 
ready  for  cooling  at  three  o'clock. 

She  had  a  justly  contemptuous  opinion  of 
women  who  wasted  time  through  ignorance  of 
the  art  of  dove-tailing  duties.  At  three  o'clock 
she  would  be  back  at  her  post,  prepared  to  cool 
the  soup,  to  make  out  the  croquettes  and  set  them 
on  the  ice.  At  five  she  would  begin  to  cook. 
After  she  was  fairly  "  at  home  "  and  people  be- 
gan to  be  neighborly,  the  dovetailing  must  be 
even  more  deftly  done.  Just  now  John  and  she 
wanted  no  company.  By  then,  too,  practice  in 
cookery  would  have  bred  such  perfection  that 
she  would  have  leisure  for  social  duties. 

She  betook  herself  to  her  room,  donned  a  dress- 
ing-gown, and  lay  down  upon  a  sofa  with  a  book 
in  her  hand.  This  was  luxury,  unknown  except 
on  Sundays  and  in  vacations,  during  seven  years 

67 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

of  teaching.    The  right  to  dispose  of  her  time  at 
her  own  sweet  will  was  still  a  novel  delight. 

Country  odors — the  nutty  flavor  of  autumn 
leaves,  of  aromatic  herbage,  and  hedges  of  Octo- 
ber roses — and  country  sounds — the  tinkle  of  a 
cow-bell,  the  far-off  happy  yelp  of  a  dog  mingled 
with  children's  laughter,  the  sough  of  the  wind 
in  the  pine-tree  under  the  window — floated  into 
the  happy  stillness  of  a  tasteful  home  which  was 
all  hers — and  John's!  She  read  for  an  hour, 
grew  drowsy,  and  fell  asleep.  Early  rising,  un- 
accustomed fatigue,  youth  and  health,  and  the 
abounding  peace  of  mind  consequent  upon  the 
slipping  of  the  flesh  from  the  bones,  combined 
to  make  the  siesta  long.  Three  strokes  of  the 
clock  in  a  church-tower  a  few  squares  away 
awoke  her  with  a  frightened  start. 

The  soup  was  her  first  thought.  Belting  her 
wrapper  with  an  apron  and  twisting  her  hair  up  as 
she  went,  she  flew  downstairs.  The  kitchen  was 
full  of  savory  steam;  the  unctuous  bubble  of  the 
pot  subsided  reluctantly  as  she  bore  it  to  the  table. 
The  reduced  liquid  hissed  and  spluttered  in  flow- 
ing over  the  bare  sides  of  the  hot  vessel  into  the 
quart  measure.  Some  of  the  bones  stuck  to  the 
bottom.  When  freed  from  these  there  was  less 
than  a  quart  of  soup.  Again  fact  had  defied  sci- 
entific calculation. 

68 


What  May  Be  Done  'with  a  Calfs  Head 

Blissfully  ignorant  of  the  truth  that  bones  and 
minced  meat  would  have  burned  to  the  kettle 
in  five  minutes  more,  Martha  set  the  soup  in  the 
laundry  to  cool  preparatory  to  skimming.  It 
looked  nice  and  it  tasted  good.  The  meat  of  that 
transmogrified  Head  was  firm  and  cold.  In  car- 
rying it  to  the  refrigerator  she  stepped  lightly 
and  warbled  blithely.  All  was  going  well.  The 
sufferings  of  yesterday  were  not  thrown  away. 
Two  of  the  useful  saws  with  which  her  memory 
was  bountifully  stored  arose  to  her  lips.  Seven 
years  in  the  instructor's  harness"  had  disposed 
her  to  didactic  moralizing: 

"  The  man  who  never  makes  mistakes  will 
never  make  anything  else."  And,  "  He  is  wise 
who  kisses  the  rod  when  it  is  Failure  that  disci- 
plines." 

Still  singing,  she  set  about  moulding  her  cro- 
quettes. They  would  be  firmer  if  made  some 
hours  before  frying,  she  had  learned  from 
Madame  Romaine.  The  savoriness  of  the  soup 
lingered  even  in  the  well-ventilated  Art  Kitchen ; 
the  October  sun  shot  yellow  smiles  between  the 
bowed  shutters ;  she  had  plenty  of  time  in  which 
to  "  get  "  her  dinner.  She  would  always  leave 
a  margin  after  yesternight's  experience.  The 
corn  paste  was  as  potter's  clay  in  her  befloured 
hands.  She  had  handled  sculptor's  clay  in  the 

69 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

kindergarten,  and  she  pleased  herself  by  model- 
ling her  croquettes  in  the  shape  of  fruits — pears, 
apples,  peaches  and  nutmeg  melons.  The  conceit 
was  felicitous,  and,  so  far  as  she  knew,  original. 
In  fancy  she  could  see  John's  admiring  smile  and 
hear  his  "  Oh,  I  say !  "  Who  says  there  is  no 
poetry  in  cookery? 

The  beef  was  less  amenable  to  the  moulding 
hand.  She  had  tempered  it,  according  to  the 
recipe,  with  one-third  the  quantity  of  dry  bread- 
crumbs, seasoned  it  with  salt,  pepper  and  onion- 
juice,  wet  it  with  gravy,  and  bound  it  with  the 
beaten  yolk  of  an  egg.  Consistent  to  the  perver- 
sity it  had  displayed  in  bulk,  the  disintegrated 
particles  refused  to  be  "  bound."  She  trebled  the 
flour  in  which  they  were  rolled  upon  the  dish  and 
on  her  palms ;  she  patted  and  pinched  and  pressed 
them.  As  soon  as  they  were  released  from  her 
hold  they  spread  shapelessly  and  widely. 

"  Arrange  the  ovates  upon  a  floured  platter,  not 
near  enough  together  to  touch  one  another,  and 
set  on  ice  for  two  hours  before  frying  in  deep 
fat,"  enjoined  the  recipe. 

The  possessed  slush  meandered  idiotically  and 
affectionately  toward  other  slushy  portions,  and 
covered  the  surface  of  the  biggest  platter  in  the 
house.  Perhaps  she  had  not  measured  the  ingre- 
dients wisely.  She  had  guessed  at  the  crumbs. 
70 


What  May  Be  Done  with  a  Calfs  Head 

The  thought  was  an  inspiration:  A  heaping 
cupful  of  fine  crumbs — in  point  of  fact,  cracker- 
crumbs,  as  being  finer  and  drier  than  bread — 
subdued  the  rebellion.  The  suspended  law  of 
cohesion  was  coaxed  into  action  again.  A  hand- 
ful of  flour  sealed  her  success.  Ten  egg-shaped 
balls  lay  respectfully  asunder  upon  a  clean  floured 
dish. 

"  Enough  for  dinner  and  for  breakfast,"  mused 
the  economist,  leaving  them  with  the  "  corn 
fruit "  in  the  ice-box. 

She  peeled  and  breaded  six  bananas,  ordered 
by  telephone,  which  were  to  carry  forward  the 
croquette  scheme  into  the  dessert;  pared  and 
trimmed  six  potatoes  to  match  the  beef  croquettes 
in  size  and  form,  and  put  six  eggs  on  to  boil  hard 
for  salad.  Eggs  were  not  cheap  at  this  season, 
and  neither  she  nor  John  could  dispose  of  three 
hard  yolks  apiece,  any  more  than  each  could 
eat  three  bananas  and  three  potatoes.  She 
"  downed  "  the  qualm  of  frugality  with  the  re- 
flection that  she  would  have  all  the  more  oppor- 
tunities of  exercising  her  rapidly  growing  skill 
upon  "  left-overs."  At  this  rate — with  the  Calf's 
Head  as  a  reserve  force — she  would  not  need  to 
go  to  market  again  for  a  week. 

A  stroke  of  housewifery  genius  was  the  resolu- 
tion to  make  one  saucepan  of  deep  fat  do  all  the 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

frying.  She  told  off  the  various  articles  in  order 
upon  the  tips  of  three  fingers : 

First,  the  corn  fruit,  lest  it  should  be  dis- 
colored if  put  in  at  a  later  stage;  next,  the 
bananas;  lastly,  the  beef.  Corn  and  bananas 
to  be  kept  hot  in  the  oven  while  the  meat  is 
frying.  The  sequence  was  orderly  and  practical. 

So  much  for  System! 


72 


CHAPTER   VI 

A   CROQUETTE    DINNER 

Poor  in  abundance;  famished  at  a  feast. 

YOUNG'S  Night  Thoughts. 

"  OH,  I  say! "  ejaculated  John,  taking  up  his 
soup-spoon.  "  This  is  something  new,  isn't  it?  " 

He  might  well  ask.  Had  he  uttered  forth  his 
whole  mind  he  would  have  quoted  the  "  gruel 
thick  and  slab  "  of  the  witch's  caldron.  The  con- 
tents of  his  plate  were  of  the  consistency  of  mor- 
tar, and  dark  brown  in  color.  There  were  lumps 
in  the  mortar,  for  the  great  spoonful  of  butter 
was  not  thoroughly  incorporated  with  "  same 
of  browned  flour,"  and  the  latter  had  charred 
bits  in  it.  The  knack  of  browning  flour  is  not 
learned  in  a  single  lesson — nor  in  six. 

The  soup  had  suffered  too  much  reduction. 
But  reduction  in  bulk  had  not  weakened  the 
strength  of  the  seasoning.  Those  elements  of 
might,  "  salt  and  pepper  to  taste,"  had  found  their 
hands;  the  teaspoonful  of  allspice  and  one  of 
mace  were  heaping.  Result,  a  spiced  and  salted 
porridge,  which  was  uneatable  by  the  most  indul- 
gent of  husbands.  John  swallowed  two  mouth- 

73 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

fuls,  the  first  large  and  confident,  the  second  small 
and  dismayed,  before  Martha  interfered.  Her 
own  spoon  was  still  clean.  She  could  not  have 
eaten  the  most  savory  masterpiece  of  culinary 
art.  Her  smile  was  all  muscle  and  no  mirth. 

"Jack,  dear,  don't  try  to  eat  the  miserable 
mess!  It's  a  failure,  through  and  through!  I 
can't  imagine  why,  for  I  followed  the  directions 
faithfully " 

Muscle  and  voice  failed  her.  Jack  kicked  back 
his  chair,  and  rushed  around  the  table  to  kiss 
her. 

"  Of  course  you  did !  The  fault  is  in  the  ras- 
cally recipe.  Most  of  them  are  frauds  and  fakes, 
in  my  opinion.  It's  the  same  with  bookkeeping, 
single  and  double  entry,  taught  in  books.  You 
could  beat  your  printed  recipe  out  of  your  own 
clever  head  with  one  hand  tied  behind  you,  and 
not  half  try.  Never  mind,  pet!  Never  say  die! 
Better  luck  next  time  and  the  rest  of  it !  Here — 
we'll  hustle  the  stuff  off  to  the  kitchen,  and  do  all 
the  more  justice  to  the  next  course  because  we 
haven't  filled  up  on  this.  I  always  did  say  that 
soup  takes  the  edge  off  a  full-grown  appetite." 

The  next  course  came  on  in  a  silver  hot-water 
dish,  the  gift  of  John's  colleagues  in  business. 
He  patted  it  affectionately  in  setting  it  down  be- 
fore his  place,  and  picked  up  the  carver. 
74 


A  Croquette  Dinner 

"  You  won't  need  that,  dear,"  said  Martha, 
with  a  brave  front  and  quaking  heart. 

The  beef  croquettes  had  been  third  in  the  line 
of  promotion  to  the  deep  fat.  Made  cautious  by 
failures,  she  had  tried  one  at  a  time.  Each  went 
in  round  and  brown,  sank  out  of  sight  in  the 
tumultuous  waves,  and  rose  to  the  surface,  gap- 
ing wide,  and  black  as  tar.  After  four  were 
spoiled  she  threw  the  overtasked  fat  into  the 
garbage-pail,  scrubbed  the  saucepan;  and  heated 
a  new  supply. 

Number  five  neither  sank  nor  rose  promptly. 
When  at  last  it  went  out  of  soundings,  and  reap- 
peared, it  staggered  and  rolled  like  a  water- 
logged punt.  But  the  color  was  healthy,  and 
despite  divers  suspicious  cracks  that  boded  disin- 
tegration, it  was  safely  transferred  to  a  hot  col- 
ander. Of  the  seven  which  succeeded  it,  three 
crumbled  in  the  split  spoon  en  route  to  the  colan- 
der. Surmising  that  the  fat  was  heating  too 
fast  again,  she  set  it  at  the  side  of  the  range 
for  a  minute. 

"  Slow  and  sure  is  a  better  kitchen  motto  than 
fast  and  loose! " 

None  of  the  roulettes  were  firm.  In  transfer- 
ring them  to  the  hot-water  dish  they  had  to  be 
coaxed  and  bolstered  into  shape  and  stability. 
They  did  not  look  amiss  in  the  environment  of 

75 


!   The  Distractions  of  Martha 

parsley  tucked  about  their  infirm  forms,  and  dis- 
guising irregularities. 

"  Pretty  as  a  picture ! "  pronounced  John, 
plunging  the  carving-fork  into  the  plumpest. 

The  fork  came  up  empty  from  the  dissevered 
croquette.  He  nodded  approvingly.  "  Tender  as 
butter,  aren't  they?" 

A  spoon  conveyed  a  heap  of  dry  hash  to  his 
wife's  plate,  and  he  helped  himself.  It  was  dry; 
it  was  over-seasoned.  "  A  pinch  of  cayenne  if 
you  like,  a  dash  of  Worcestershire,  other  condi- 
ments at  discretion,"  were  instructions  that  gave 
the  cook  a  liberal  margin ;  and,  as  John  was  fond 
of  saying,  there  was  nothing  mean  about  our 
Martha.  Moreover,  she  abhorred  insipidity. 

Each  croquette  was  soaked  to  the  core  with 
grease.  John  had  not  made  all  these  discoveries 
when  his  wife  laid  upon  the  plate,  passed  in  ex- 
change for  hers,  something  that  was  like  the 
churn  puzzle  we  learned  as  children — "  big  at  the 
bottom,  little  at  the  top  " — with  a  whole  clove 
stuck  into  the  small  end.  It  reposed  jauntily 
upon  a  green  leaf. 

"  A  new  variety  of  pear — the  Purcell !  "  ex- 
plained Martha,  gayly.  "  I  have  an  apple  from 
the  same  orchard." 

"  By  George !  "  cried  John.  "  You're  a  genius ! 
What  is  it?  Potato?"  He  clove  the  pear 
76 


A  Croquette  Dinner 

through  the  middle,  which  was  raw  and  viscid. 
He  cut  off  a  morsel,  and  put  it  into  his  mouth. 
It  was  tough  and  flavorless.  The  hot  fat  had 
cooked  a  quarter  inch  of  the  surface.  The  paste 
of  chopped  corn,  flour  and  egg  resisted  further 
advance. 

He  was  a  sweet-tempered  fellow,  and  deeply 
in  love  with  the  wife  he  rated  as  his  superior  intel- 
lectually, morally  and  spiritually.  But  he  was 
human  and  hungry,  and  it  was  not  in  famishing 
mortal  nature  not  to  feel  and  to  look  disappointed. 
He  munched  away  soberly  upon  the  salty  dust 
and  ashes  of  the  beef  croquette,  and  worked 
hard  to  rid  his  teeth  of  the  half-baked  dough 
that  tasted  like  chicken-feed.  Then  he  ate  two 
slices  of  bread  and  butter,  and  Martha  got  up 
to  remove  the  plates  and  bring  in  the  salad — too 
wretched  to  make  talk. 

Her  favorite  maxim  came  to  her  like  a  sardonic 
whisper  as  her  eye  revolted  from  the  untempting 
debris  upon  his  plate: 

"  Elegance  is  not  incompatible  with  frugality." 

She  had  achieved  neither.  She  was  an  im- 
postor, self-deceived,  but  none  the  less  guilty  of 
imposing  plated  ware  for  sterling  upon  this  trust- 
ful, gallant  gentleman. 

She  would  not  have  believed  three  days  ago 
that  his  wife  could  ever  be  so  unhappy  as  she 

77 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

felt  and  looked  while  getting  the  cut-glass  salad- 
bowl  (another  wedding  present)  from  the  refrig- 
erator, and  taking  it  to  the  dining-room.  The 
third  course,  and  as  yet  not  a  thing  fit  to  eat,  after 
all  her  planning  and  dreaming  and  measuring! 
What  must  John  think  of  her?  What  could  he 
be  thinking  at  this  instant  except  that  his  ideals 
of  home  and  comfort  and  the  beauty  of  living 
had  been  barbarously  crushed? 

As  she  passed  behind  his  chair,  he  leaned  his 
head  back  suddenly  to  rest  it  on  her  shoulder — a 
dear,  familiar  gesture  which  brought  the  tears 
in  a  gush.  She  set  down  the  bowl  and  clasped 
the  head  in  her  arms. 

"  Jack,  you  are  an  angel,  and  I  am  a  fraud !  " 
she  got  out,  in  an  hysterical  gasp. 

"  Pooh !  One  part  of  that  speech  is  as  true 
as  the  other !  "  reaching  around  to  pull  her  to  his 
knee.  "  I  say,  Patty,  sit  still,  and  we'll  eat  that 
salad  as  we  are.  That's  a  jolly  idea." 

Between  laughing,  crying  and  scolding,  she  let 
him  hold  her,  while  he  pulled  two  plates  up  to  his 
free  hand.  The  salad  might  redeem  her  skill  yet. 
It  was  wilted  and  unaccountably  shrunken,  after 
lying  in  the  dressing  for  three  hours.  The  "  P.  F. 
of  C."  had  never  lisped  a  word  of  the  inexpedi- 
ency of  putting  condiments  and  lettuce  together 
at  an  early  stage  of  the  action. 
78 


Martha  got  up  to  remove  the  plates  and  bring  in  the  salad. 


A  Croquette  Dinner 

The  design  was  good — a  nest  of  crisp  lettuce- 
leaves,  dotted  on  the  rim  by  nasturtium-flowers, 
and  in  the  centre  six  firm  yolks  laid  upon  an  inner 
lining  of  the  shredded  whites.  The  leaves  looked 
as  if  they  had  been  scalded ;  the  nasturtiums  were 
faded  and  languid;  the  yellow  yolks  were  dark- 
ened in  patches,  and  the  whites,  representing 
down,  were  streaked  with  queer  black  lines.  The 
whole  construction  swam  in  liquid,  the  vine- 
gar having  drawn  all  the  sap  from  the  crisp 
esculent. 

To  the  usual  formula  of  vinegar,  oil,  salt  and 
pepper  the  recipe  had  added,  "  Some  epicures 
fancy  a  soupgon  of  cayenne,  and  rather  more  than 
a  soupgon  of  mustard." 

Well-read  Martha,  recalling  Sydney  Smith's 
famous  injunction: 

Of  mordant  mustard  take  a  single  spoon; 
Distrust  the  condiment  that  bites  too  soon, 

had  put  in  a  "  generous  "  teaspoonful,  and  half 
as  much  cayenne. 

At  his  first  taste  John  said  "  By  Jupiter !  "  and 
seized  his  tumbler.  At  the  second  trial  he  gave 
over  the  attempt  to  eat  it,  holding  down  her 
hand  when  she  would  have  carried  a  portion  to 
her  lips. 

"  Don't,  darling !  It  would  burn  the  heart  out 
79 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

of  you!  You  must  have  mistaken  the  cayenne 
for  the  other  pepper.  Or  you  got  hold  of  the 
wrong  recipe.  You'd  better  chuck  that  con- 
founded cook-book  into  the  fire."  And,  with  a 
sorry  effort  at  fun-making  more  like  sarcasm  than 
she  had  believed  him  guilty  of — "  Man  cannot 
live  by  bread  alone,  you  know — even  when  it  is 
buttered.  Bring  on  your  pudding,  or  whatever 
it  is,  and  let's  get  this  business  over  with !  " 

She  obeyed  in  meekness  so  abject,  submission 
so  sorrowful,  that  he  jumped  up  and  took  the 
second-sized  silver  hot-water  dish  from  her  at 
her  reappearance,  set  it  upon  the  table  with  a 
thump,  and  took  her  to  a  repentant  heart. 

"  I'm  a  selfish  savage,  Patty !  I'll  eat  the  whole 
dishful  if  you'll  bring  it  back — if  it  sears  my 
tongue  down  to  the  roots ! " 

She  dried  her  wet  eyes  upon  the  lapel  of  his 
coat,  and  after  a  little  more  pretty  fooling,  they 
sat  down  again,  this  time  in  their  proper  places, 
and  ate  the  banana  croquettes.  They  were  greasy 
and  "  soggy  "  from  having  been  put  into  the  fat 
too  soon  and  having  lain  in  it  too  long.  They 
were  so  much  more  tolerable  than  their  prede- 
cessors that  the  hungry  husband,  and  the  wife, 
who  had  lunched  on  Veata-Beater  and  milk,  posi- 
tively relished  them.  John  ate  four,  improvising 
an  accompaniment  of  crackers  and  cheese,  and 
80 


A  Croquette  Dinner 

settling  them  with  a  cup  of  fairly  strong  and 
hot  coffee.  After  which  he  lit  a  cigar  and  tried 
not  to  recollect  the  scandalous  anecdote  of  the 
"  mate  corner  "  and  the  more  outrageous  tale  of 
Sambo  and  the  "  onfillin'est  possum." 

The  moon  was  up  by  the  time  the  garbage-pail 
had  received  the  last  "  left-over  " ;  the  dishes  were 
washed  and  in  place  upon  the  shelves,  and  the  Art 
Kitchen  was  quite  itself  again.  Martha  wrapped 
a  shawl  about  her  shoulders,  and  they  strolled 
up  and  down  the  brief  piazza  upon  the  moonlit 
side  of  the  cottage.  The  kitchen  abutted  upon 
one  end  of  the  porch.  The  windows  being  opened, 
John  caught  at  each  turn  a  dying  whiff  of  the 
cold-and-fried  smell,  and  puffed  fast  upon  his 
cigar  to  banish  it. 

"Only  eight  o'clock!"  he  exclaimed,  as  the 
steeple  chimes  rang  out,  and  the  officious  little 
clock  upon  the  shelf  in  the  kitchen  mimicked 
them.  "  There's  one  good  thing  about —  Bah !  " 

He  jerked  his  cigar  from  his  lips,  and  spat  a 
flake  of  tobacco  from  his  tongue,  wiping  that 
member  fussily  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  One  good  thing  about — "echoed  Martha,  in- 
nocently. 

"  Ah !  Hum !  Yes !  "  blundered  John.  "  What 
was  I  saying?  Oh,  yes!  About  the  shortening 
days.  They  give  us  nice  long  evenings !  " 

81 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

He  wiped  a  bead  of  real  perspiration  from  his 
forehead  before  putting  the  handkerchief  back 
in  his  pocket,  for  what  he  had  come  bitterly 
near  saying  was — "  About  a  dinner  a  fellow  can't 
eat.  It  doesn't  take  long  to  do  it !  " 


82 


CHAPTER   VII 

AN   ANGEL   UNAWARES 

My  friend!  my  well-spring  in  the  wilderness! 

GEORGE  ELIOT. 

"  OH,  you  poor,  poor  dear!  " 

As  Martha  Burr,  our  heroine  had  held  Rosa 
Dunn  of  the  Primary  Department  in  low  esteem 
so  far  as  mental  plenishing  went.  She  was  a 
merry,  good-hearted  little  thing,  popular  with 
everybody,  and  so  much  beloved  by  the  children, 
that  she  retained  her  place,  despite  very  mediocre 
talents,  until  her  marriage  three  years  ago.  Mar- 
tha had  never  seen  her  since  the  wedding-day. 
She  did  not  know  that  she  lived  in  Budfield  until 
Rosa  notified  her  of  the  fact  by  calling  upon  her 
old  acquaintance  in  due  form  on  the  afternoon  of 
the  Purcells'  third  day  in  their  cottage  home. 

"  Too  funny,  isn't  it,  that  I  should  have  found 
you  out  by  the  merest  accident  ?  "  rattled  on  the 
visitor,  when  greetings  had  been  exchanged.  "  I 
happened  to  be  at  the  butcher's  yesterday  morn- 
ing just  as  he  was  sending  his  boy  around  with 

83 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

a  beautiful  calf's  head  '  to  Mrs.  John  Purcell.' 
He's  a  sociable  fellow,  and  he  managed  to  let  me 
know  that  you  were  a  bride  and  a  new  customer, 
and  '  seemed  to  be  a  most  lovely  lady.'  So,  as  I 
had  seen  your  marriage  in  the  paper,  I  jumped 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  lovely  bride  was  my  old 
friend,  and  I  asked  Tom  (that's  my  Mr.  Risley, 
you  know)  last  night  if  he  knew  anything  about 
your  husband,  and  he  did,  and  his  wife's  (that's 
you!}  maiden  name.  And  to  think  our  back 
yards  almost  join!  It's  too  delicious  for  any- 
thing! I  could  kiss  that  calf's  head!" 

Martha's  laugh  had  a  rueful  break.  "  I 
couldn't! "  she  said. 

Before  she  knew  what  she  was  doing,  she  was 
pouring  the  tale  of  woes,  varied  and  unlocked 
for,  into  Rosa's  ear,  and  getting  sympathy  in  true 
scriptural  measure,  heaped  up,  pressed  down  and 
running  over,  from  the  "  good-hearted  little 
thing  "  she  had  patronized  and  looked  down  upon 
in  the  old  times  they  had  shared. 

"Oh,  you  poor,  poor  dear!"  cried  Rosa  for 
the  sixth  time,  when  the  story  of  the  Croquette 
Dinner  was  concluded. 

Once  the  repetition  would  have  irked  Martha. 
Now  it  was  like  another  touch  of  cooling  salve 
to  a  burn.  Having  said  it,  Rosa  fell  into  a  brief 
reverie. 

84 


An  Angel  Unawares 

She  was  prettier — by  far — than  Rosa  Dunn 
had  been.  Her  roly-poly  figure  was  erect  and 
trig ;  she  was  becomingly  dressed ;  her  eyes  were 
bright,  her  color  was  good.  She  looked  like  the 
happy  wife  and  proud  mother  she  had  declared 
herself  to  be.  The  touch  of  matronly  sedateness 
which  settled  upon  her  with  the  reverie  was  at- 
tractive. Involuntary  respect  for  her  took  root 
in  Martha's  heart  as  the  other  began  to  speak, 
slowly  and  gravely: 

"  I  think  the  unkindest  turn  a  mother  can  do 
her  daughter  is  to  let  her  grow  up  as  ignorant 
of  housekeeping — especially  of  cooking  and  all 
that,  you  know — as  you  and  I  were  when  we  got 
married.  You  lost  your  mother  when  you  were 
a  mere  girl.  Mine  is  living  still,  and  you  may 
be  sure  I  have  let  her  know  my  sentiments  on  that 
subject. 

"  I  said  to  her  the  last  time  I  was  in  New 
Brunswick  (that  was  my  home,  you  know) — 
'  We  were  taught  all  sorts  of  arts  and  sciences 
except  the  one  upon  which  most  of  a  woman's 
happiness  and  the  health  and  comfort  of  any 
family  she  may  have  depend.  It  is  downright 
cruelty  to  all  concerned  to  let  her  marry  while 
she  is  such  an  ignoramus." 

"  She  said — and  there  is  some  truth  in  it — 
that  nowadays  girls  seem  to  have  no  time  for 

85 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

housework,  much  less  kitchen-work.  It's  kinder- 
garten by  the  time  they  can  run  about,  then 
school,  and  lessons  to  be  studied  at  home,  that 
leave  no  time  for  any  other  sort  of  work. 

"  '  As  soon  as  you  were  graduated,  Rosa,  you 
went  away  from  home  to  teach  school  in  New 
York/  said  she.  '  Will  you  please  tell  me  when 
you  could  have  learned  how  to  cook  and  wash 
and  iron?  It's  easy  finding  fault!  When  your 
baby  is  a  big  girl  you  will  do  as  the  rest  of  us 
mothers  do,'  she  said. 

"  '  Not  on  your  life ! '  said  I.  '  She's  going 
through  an  apprenticeship  under  her  mother  in 
vacation.  And  from  the  beginning  she  shall  com- 
prehend that  housekeeping  is  every  woman's  pro- 
fession, no  matter  what  other  business  she  may 
follow.  It's  the  sine  qua  non  for  her.  She  shall 
learn  this  from  her  mother — not  from  such  sharp 
experiences  as  I  have  had.'  Why,  Martha,  the 
first  time  I  cooked  beets,  I  peeled  them  before 
they  were  boiled !  Would  you  believe  it  ?  " 

Martha  stared  in  genuine  bewilderment. 
"  Well,"  she  said,  simply,  "  why  not?  " 

Rosa's  gesture  was  tragic.  "  Of  course  '  why 
not  ? '  They  don't  teach  you  to  boil  beets  in 
fancy  cooking-classes,  any  more  than  they  teach 
you  to  peel  potatoes  and  wash  dishes,  and  a  hun- 
dred other  things  as  necessary  to  the  comfort  of 
86 


An  Angel  Unawares 

a  family  as  the  breath  they  draw.  We  sit  there 
in  our  good  clothes,  book  and  pencil  in  hand, 
and  take  notes  as  we  did  in  chemistry  and  ancient- 
history  classes  in  school,  and  go  home  thinking 
we  know  it  all  because  we've  written  down  what 
the  teacher  did.  About  as  sensible  as  for  a  school- 
girl who  doesn't  know  her  scales  yet  to  think 
she  can  play  something  that  she  has  seen  Pader- 
ewski  do  so  easily !  " 

"  But  there  are  so  many  cook-books — all  claim- 
ing to  be  practical — that  anybody  of  ordinary 
intelligence  should  be  able  to  learn  in  a  short 
time,"  ventured  Martha. 

She  had  entered  upon  the  study  of  humility 
three  days  ago. 

Rosa  had  pulled  off  one  glove ;  she  slapped  the 
palm  of  a  bare  hand  with  it  at  the  most  impres- 
sive periods  of  her  discourse.  Martha  noticed, 
abstractedly,  that  the  glove  was  pearl-gray,  the 
palm  plump  and  pink. 

"  Cook-books  are  well  enough — some  of  them ! 
I  have  one  that's  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  Pro- 
vided, always  and  every  time,  that  you  know  some 
things  already!  In  cooking — maybe  in  other 
things — you  must  do  a  thing  in  order  to  learn 
how  to  do  it.  That's  a  culinary  maxim!  In  the 
cooking-class  all  goes  upon  velvet.  Madame  or 
Monsieur  puts  eggs  together  with  a  dash  of  this 

87 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

and  a  suspicion  of  that — and  presto!  there's  an 
omelet!  That's  exact  science,  you'll  say.  One 
fourth  of  it  may  be.  Three  fourths  is  practice! 
It  looks  as  easy  as  sliding  down  a  greased  plank. 
Exact  science  won't  make  your  first  attempt  a 
success.  No,  nor  your  fifth!  It's  a  step  at  a 
time,  and  you've  got  to  begin  at  the  bottom.  I 
reminded  myself,  for  the  first  six  months  of  my 
housekeeping  life,  of  the  oversmart  children  who 
used  to  come  to  me  fresh  from  kindergarten,  and 
thought  they  could  read  when  they  had  never 
tried  to  do  it." 

"  You  dishearten  one  who  must  do  it  whether 
she  knows  how  or  not!  I  must  read,  even  if  I 
never  learned  my  letters." 

Martha  tried  to  say  it  laughingly,  biting  her 
lower  lip  to  stop  its  trembling. 

"  You  poor,  poor  dear ! "  said  Rosa  for  the 
seventh  time.  She  jerked  off  the  other  glove,  and 
laid  both  on  the  table. 

"  See  here,  Martha  Burr — Pur  cell!  I  beg  your 
pardon !  We'll  come  down  to  business.  I  don't 
know  much,  and  that  little  I've  got,  as  the 
Frenchman  said  he  got  his  English,  '  by  the  per- 
spiration of  my  eyebrow.'  Such  as  it  is,  it  is  at 
your  service.  You  did  me  many  a  good  turn 
when  I  was  a  raw,  stupid  goose  at  teaching.  It's 
only  fair  I  should  lend  a  hand  when  I  can.  What 
88 


An  Angel  Unawares 

are  you  going  to  cook  for  dinner  this  identical 
afternoon  ?  " 

"  The  cook-books — and  everything  else — are  in 
the  kitchen,"  Martha  answered,  with  blended 
pride  and  diffidence.  "  If  you  wouldn't  mind 
going  in  there,  I  could  explain  better." 

"Delighted!"  Rosa  unpinned  her  hat,  and 
laid  it  by  the  gloves.  "  What  a  lark !  "  Tripping 
gayly  after  her  hostess,  she  cried  out  in  unfeigned 
rapture  at  sight  of  the  Symphony  in  Gray  and 
Blue.  "  It's  a  dream ! "  clasping  her  hands. 
"  Cooking  in  here  must  be  as  good  as  novel- 
reading." 

Martha  winced  behind  her  complacent  smile. 
Rosa  ran  from  cupboard  to  pantry,  begged  per- 
mission to  open  drawers,  and  exclaimed  anew 
at  each  revelation  of  her  friend's  taste  and  inge- 
nuity. When  the  hostess,  catching  her  spirit, 
proposed  afternoon  tea,  the  guest  would  not 
hear  of  drinking  it  in  the  drawing-room  or 
library.  They  would  brew  it  and  enjoy  it  in  that 
"seraphic"  kitchen  that  had  not  its  equal  in 
Budfield,  or  anywhere  else,  for  that  matter. 

Over  the  brew  they  became  yet  more  intimate, 
and  upon  the  repetition  of  Rosa's  leading  query, 
her  friend  confided  her  intention  of  converting 
the  best  portion  of  the  calf's  head,  stored  in  the 
refrigerator,  into  Imitation  Terrapin,  Rosa  stared 

89 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

ignorantly,  and  "  The  Perfect  Flower  of  Cook- 
ery "  was  brought  to  the  front. 

"  Cut  the  cold,  gelatinous  covering  of  the  Head 
into  dice,"  read  Martha  with  proper  emphasis 
and  discretion.  "  Have  ready  in  a  saucepan  a 
cup  of  strong  stock ;  the  yolks  of  three  hard-boiled 
eggs;  a  double  handful  of  forcemeat  balls,  made 
of  the  minced  tongue,  rubbed  to  a  paste  with  the 
brains,  a  third  as  much  bread-crumbs,  and  the 
yolks  of  two  eggs,  and  seasoned  with  pepper, 
salt,  onion-juice  and  a  pinch  of  grated  lemon. 
They  should  be  the  size  of  large  marbles,  and 
rolled  in  flour.  Set  on  ice  until  the  terrapin  is 
nearly  ready  to  serve.  Heat  the  stock,  season 
with  onion,  pepper,  salt,  and  minced  sweet  herbs, 
with  a  judicious  dash  of  Kitchen  Aroma,  and 
put  in  the  meat  dice.  Simmer  until  the  dice  are 
translucent,  add  the  forcemeat  marbles  and  the 
eggs,  also  cut  into  cubes.  When  very  hot,  take 
up  carefully  with  a  perforated  spoon,  and  heap 
in  the  centre  of  a  hot-water  dish  or  a  hot  platter. 
If  the  latter,  keep  warm  over  boiling  water  (in  a 
bain-marie  if  you  have  it)  while  you  thicken 
the  gravy  with  browned  flour  rolled  in  a  great 
spoonful  of  butter ;  stir  until  smooth  and  consist- 
ent throughout,  add  a  generous  glass  of  sherry, 
and  pour  over  the  savory  ragout. 
90 


An  Angel  Unawares 

"  The  resemblance  to  real  terrapin — that  joy 
of  the  epicure! — may  be  enhanced  by  whipping 
the  yolks  of  two  eggs  smooth,  and  stirring  into 
the  gravy  thirty  seconds  before  it  comes  from  the 
fire." 

Struck  by  her  friend's  silence  when  the  reading 
ceased,  Martha  looked  up  from  the  book.  Rosa 
sat  on  the  other  side  of  the  tea-tray,  her  elbows 
on  the  table,  her  chin  in  her  hollowed  palms, 
gazing  at  her  hostess  as  a  charmed  bird  at  a 
snake,  eyes  dilate  and  lips  apart. 

"Well?"  queried  Martha. 

Whereupon  the  practical  housewife  said  once 
again,  slowly  and  hollowly,  "  Oh,  you  poor,  POOR 
dear !  Give  me  that  book !  "  she  added  in  the 
same  tone,  stretching  out  an  imperative  hand. 

She  turned  a  leaf,  and  read  silently,  her  lips 
moving  after  the  fashion  of  children  or  the  un- 
educated. She  read  so  deliberately  that  the  other 
grew  impatient. 

"  Well! "  she  interjected  once  more.  "  Doesn't 
it  seem  feasible  ?  Don't  you  think  it  will  be  very 
savory  ?  " 

"  It  will — be — horribly — expensive! "  dropping 
each  syllable  gingerly.  "  Three  eggs  to  be  boiled 
hard,  two  (raw)  for  the  marbles — five! — and 
if  you  want  to  make  it  very  terrapiny,  two  more 

91 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

— seven !  Eggs  are  thirty-five  cents  a  dozen  just 
now.  Then,  butter,  wine  and  gravy —  You've 
got  that,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Martha  reddened.  "  I  am  going  to  order  a 
can  of  Gallic- Anglican  Soup — mock-turtle  or  ox- 
tail— and  use  that  instead,  not  happening  to  have 
any  gravy  on  hand." 

"  Exactly !  That  would  be  thirty  cents  more. 
You  paid  fifty  for  the  head — and  have  had  a  soup 
out  of  it." 

"  Ought  to  have  had,  you  mean,"  corrected  the 
other,  with  a  sorry  attempt  at  facetiousness. 

"  Yes,  you  poor,  poor  dear !  What  I  meant 
is  that  the  trimmings  will  cost  more  than  the 
gown — the  meat,  I  would  say.  Now,  dear !  " 
locking  her  fingers  upon  the  open  book,  and  talk- 
ing faster,  "  you  are  making  the  very  selfsame 
blunder  I  made  three  years  ago — being  too  ambi- 
tious !  It's  the  foolhardiness  of  abject  ignorance 
— that's  what  it  is!  We  were  grown  women—- 
and teachers — for  so  long  that  we  aren't  willing 
to  begin  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder.  It  isn't 
flattering  to  our  vanity  to  learn  the  '  a  b  c '  of 
anything — especially  of  something  that  any  fool 
of  a  woman  who  can't  write  her  name  is  expected 
to  know.  But  we've  got  to  do  it!  You're  find- 
ing that  out  as  fast  as  is  safe  for  you  to  do  if 
92 


'Oh,  you.  poor,  POOR  dear!     Give  me  that  book. 


An  Angel  Unawares 

you  don't  want  to  bring  up  in  the  insane  asylum 
inside  of  a  month.  You  must  creep  before  you 
walk,  and  walk  before  you  run.  You  are  quite 
sure  you  don't  mind  my  speaking  so  plainly  ?  " 

Martha  nodded,  and  laid  a  reassuring  hand 
upon  those  joined  over  the  fat  "  Flower."  Her 
heart  was  getting  very  full. 

"  Thank  you !  You  see,  I've  been  there !  Re- 
peatedly, I  may  say!  And  I'm  just  as  sorry  for 
others  situated  as  I  was  then  as  I  can  be.  Begin 
with  plain  things — the  rudiments,  as  you  might 
say.  Terrapin  and  croquettes,  and  '  imitations  ' 
generally,  are  very  fine  when  you've  learned  the 
lessons  that  went  before  them.  You've  plunged 
right  into  Long  Division  before  you've  got  the 
Addition  Table  by  heart.  To  come  down  to  the 
plain  facts  of  the  present  case — just  leave  that 
famous  Head  out  of  the  question.  To-morrow, 
if  you'll  let  me,  I'll  run  over  and  show  you  how 
to  make  a  spiced  pickle  to  pour  over  it  that'll 
change  it  to  what  our  mothers  call  '  souse '  in  a 
couple  of  days,  and  make  a  nice  Sunday  night 
relish." 

"  But  I  haven't  anything  else  in  the  house  for 
dinner,"  said  poor  Martha,  grateful,  yet  despair- 
ing, "  and  the  butcher  closes  his  market  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon." 

93 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

"  That's  all  right.  Don't  interrupt  me  again, 
please!  until  my  story  is  done.  You  remind  me 
of  the  jingle  of 

The  man  who  had  a  calf, 
And  that's  half. 

That  calf's  head  is  just  half!  The  other  half  is 
a  *  dinky '  bit  of  steak  in  my  refrigerator.  I 
bought  it  this  morning,  thinking  Tom  would 
be  at  home.  He  telephoned  at  noon  that  he  has 
to  go  to  Philadelphia,  and  won't  be  home  until 
to-morrow.  I  was  just  puzzling  my  head  what 
to  do  with  that  meat  before  I  came  over.  Don't 
interrupt  me!  That's  true  as  gospel.  For  my 
maid  is  going  out,  and  you  don't  suppose  I'd 
cook  anything  for  myself!  Did  you  ever  see  a 
woman  who  would  ?  Not  a  word !  The  story  is 
done!  At  half-past  five  o'clock  the  steak  and  I 
will  be  on  hand.  Had  you  thought  of  scalloped 
potatoes  to  go  with  it?  My  Tom  dotes  on  scal- 
loped potatoes !  And  they  are  easy  as  easy !  You 
may  peel  them  before  I  come.  Have  your  can 
of  soup  opened  and  turned  out  into  a  bowl  to 
take  the  air  off,  and  the  table  set,  and  all  that, 
you  know." 

Martha  was  well-nigh  voiceless.  "  I  can't 
thank  you  as  I  ought — "  she  began. 

"  Then  don't  try !  "  snapped  Rosa,  in  affected 
94 


An  Angel  Unawares 

petulance.  "  And  please  understand  I'm  not  going 
to  cook  your  dinner — only  boss  you  a  bit.  '  Wot ' 
larks!" 

She  flung  the  morsel  of  slang  over  her  shoul- 
der as  she  ran  out  of  the  back  door  and  "  across 
lots  "  home. 


95 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JOHN   EATS  AND   MORALIZES 

For  nothing  lovelier  can  be  found 
In  woman  than  to  study  household  good, 
And  good  works  in  her  husband  to  promote. 

MILTON,  Paradise  Lost. 

JOHN  PuRCEU,  had  had  a  trying  day.  Busi- 
ness had  been  remorseless  in  demands  upon  time 
and  thought,  in  result  so  unsatisfactory  that  he 
put  the  calculation  resolutely  out  of  his  mind 
when  he  turned  his  face  homeward. 

He  was  ashamed  that  he  let  himself  down 
lumpishly  from  the  train  to  the  station  platform, 
and  he  straightened  up.  Why  should  he  slouch 
when  he  had  nothing  to  tire  him  beyond  the  usual 
daily  routine?  A  married  man,  with  wife  and 
home  as  the  terminus  of  his  walk,  should  bear 
himself  gallantly.  He  beat  off  a  nasty  thought 
at  the  turn  that  would  bring  his  house  in  sight. 

"  I  hope  to  heaven,"  said  a  perverse  spirit  in 
his  ear,  "  that  the  boarding-house  smell  hasn't 
come  to  stay!  I  haven't  the  stomach  for  it  to- 
night!" 

The  evening  was  cloudy,  and  darkness  fell 
96  ' 


John  Eats  and  Moralizes 

early.  The  light  from  the  dining-room  windows, 
softened  by  shades  and  curtains,  was  yet  full 
and  cheery.  By  some  occult  principle  of  divina- 
tion he  knew  at  once  why  Martha  had  left  the 
blinds  open.  In  quickening  his  pace  he  breathed 
a  bar  of  "There's  a  Light  in  the  Window  for 
Thee!" 

His  wife  opened  the  door  before  he  could  ap- 
ply the  latch-key.  The  warmed  air  that  floated 
out  was  fragrant  with — could  it  be  savory  meat 
such  as  his  soul  loved?  His  heart  and  arms 
opened  impulsively  at  the  suggestion.  He  did 
not  love  the  priestess  of  the  Shrine  more  fondly 
for  associating  her  with  good  things  to  come, 
but  he  appreciated  suddenly  that  this  was  a  Home 
worth  keeping  and  holding,  and  that  she  was  the 
motive  power. 

He  changed  his  collar,  and  put  on  a  cravat 
Martha  liked  particularly  before  he  came  down- 
stairs, brushed  his  clothes,  and  ran  the  comb 
twice  through  his  hair  to  make  it  lie  smoothly 
yet  lightly  above  a  contented  face. 

"  Dinner  is  waiting,  love !  "  called  Martha  from 
the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

Her  voice  had  a  new  ring,  a  sort  of  exultant 
throb,  that  chimed  in  exactly  with  his  mood.  He 
joined  her  on  the  threshold  of  the  dining-room. 
The  goodly  smell  filled  his  nostrils  and  floated 

97 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

through  his  soul,  lending  unction  to  the  brief 
grace  uttered  with  bowed  head  and  sincere 
thanksgiving.  Then  Martha  ladled  out  the  soup. 

Real  soup !  that  could  be  drunk  without  chew- 
ing! Without  a  suspicion  that  it  was  bought 
ready-made,  and  had  been  "  doctored  "  under  the 
"  boss's "  directions  with  boiling  water,  sherry 
and  lemon-juice,  out  of  all  resemblance  to 
"  canned  goods,"  John  revived  visibly  with  each 
mouthful,  and  praised  unstintedly. 

A  beefsteak  followed — brown,  hot,  juicy. 
John  sighed  blissfully  as  his  much-prized  carver 
made  its  way  tenderly  into  the  reeking  heart. 
Here,  for  the  first  time,  was  matter  worthy  of  its 
steel. 

He  looked  across  the  "  dainty  dish "  at  his 
vis-a-vis,  moisture  that  was  not  all  savory  steam 
rising  between  her  and  him. 

"  Patty,  precious !  this  is  perfect !  And  worth 
all  the  fancy  flapdoodles  and  gimcracks  all  the 
cooking-teachers  in  creation  could  concoct.  And 
cooked  to  a  turn!  Blood-rare!  Juice  follows 
the  knife!" 

Martha  blushed  high  and  prettily.  "  Thank 
you !  That  is  the  first  steak  I  ever  cooked.  And 
these  " — lifting  a  cover — "  are  my  first  scalloped 
potatoes.  There  is  macaroni  with  cheese  sauce 
in  the  other  vegetable-dish.  Rosa  Risley — you 
98 


John  Eats  and  Moralizes 

never  knew  Rosa  Dunn,  did  you? — watched  me 
do  it  all.  She  wouldn't  lay  a  finger  to  it,  because, 
as  she  said,  you  would  enjoy  it  the  more  if  it  was 
my  work." 

"  Right  she  is ! "  responded  the  husband, 
stoutly,  between  mouthfuls.  "  And  if  the  truth 
were  told,  I've  no  doubt  you're  a  better  cook  than 
she  is  any  day." 

"Oh,  Jack!  how  little  you  know  about  it!" 
cried  the  conscience-smitten  apprentice.  "  We'll 
have  a  long  talk  over  it  when  you've  had  your 
dinner.  Eat  heartily,  for  our  dessert  is  a  very 
simple  affair." 

"  Can't  be  too  simple !  "  averred  John.  "  A 
fellow  that  can't  fill  up  with  a  steak  like  this  and 
two  vegetables,  after  such  a  '  starter '  as  that 
soup,  ought  to  be  condemned  for  the  rest  of  his 
days  to  a  diet  of — sawdust  and  water !  " 

He  caught  himself  up  adroitly  for  a  novice, 
but  said  not  another  word  for  five  minutes.  Had 
the  quick-eared,  sharp-witted  woman  at  the  head 
of  the  table  guessed  how  near  he  had  come  to 
saying  "  burnt  beef  and  croquettes  "  ? 

The  dessert  was  a  dish  of  grapes,  followed  by 
coffee. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Martha  over  the  coffee,  "  if 
there  is  any  truth  in  the  story  of  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin and  the  sawdust  pudding?  " 

99 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

"  About  as  much  as  in  the  story  of  the  French- 
man and  the  pebble  soup,"  opined  John.  "  Not 
that  I  haven't  eaten,  at  one  time  and  another,  the 
pudding  and  the  soup.  The  fact  is,  my  pet — 
May  I  light  a  cigar?  Thank  you!  The  fact  of 
the  business  is  that  you  can't  make  good,  substan- 
tial nourishing  food  for  human  beings — or  beasts, 
either,  for  that  matter — out  of  nothing,  no  matter 
how  much  seasoning  you  put  in.  That  reminds  me 
of  a  description  I  heard  an  Irishman,  who  boarded 
at  the  same  hash-joint  with  me  one  winter,  give 
of  a  pumpkin  pie  we  had  on  Thanksgiving  Day. 
He  said,  '  Devil  a  thing  was  there  in  it  except 
punkin  an'  pepper ! '  You've  got  to  have  a  foun- 
dation for  everything.  When  the  foundation  is 
sawdust,  or  pebbles,  you've  got  a  sham, — a  mess, 
that  insults  the  people  you  set  down  to  it.  Is 
that  tray  ready  ?  Let  me  take  it !  " 

Martha  followed  him  soberly  as  he  bore  the 
load  of  soiled  dishes  to  the  kitchen.  She  could 
not  believe  him  guilty  of  the  unkindness  of  talk- 
ing at  her,  but  the  memory  of  her  ambitious 
"  messes  "  lay  heavily  upon  her  spirits.  While 
she  washed,  dried  and  put  away  china,  glass  and 
silver,  John  smoked  and  talked  in  high  content 
in  a  rocking-chair,  his  long  legs  reaching  half 
way  across  the  blue-and-gray  linoleum. 

"  I  say !  I  am  going  to  make  a  confession," 
100 


John  Eats  and  Moralizes 

he  blurted  out  presently,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  came 
home  cross  to-night !  cross  as  a  bear  with  a  sore 
head!  I  have  been  cross  all  day.  I  thought  it 
was  business  worries.  I  know  now  that  I  was 
hungry.  And  a  hungry  man  is  a  savage.  I  sup--, 
pose  you  women  don't  know  anything  about, 
that,  eh?" 

"No,"  said  Martha,  thoughtfully,  "I  doubt 
if  we  do.  I  have  often  forgotten  to  eat  until 
reminded  by  faintness  and  headache  that  it  was 
past  dinner,  or  luncheon-time,  or  that  I  had  hur- 
ried off  to  school  without  my  breakfast." 

"  A  man  would  have  been  ready  to  murder  his 
brother  by  that  time.  We're  built  that  way./ 
Why,  I  don't  know,  unless  to  provide  occupation 
for  cooks,  and  to  keep  hotel  and  restaurant  keep- 
ers from  starving.  They'd  all  go  out  of  busi- 
ness if  our  appetites  matched  yours.  I'm  no 
glutton.  Few  decent  men  are  gluttons.  But  we 
must  be  fed  regularly  and  well — bones,  muscles 
and  brains  getting  their  share.  After  such  a 
dinner  as  you  gave  me  to-night  I  don't  mind  tell- 
ing you  that  more  men  are  driven  to  drink  by 
bad  cookery  than  by  any  other  one  thing.  And, 
knowing  you  to  be  a  long-headed,  sensible  mana- 
ger— like  the  Pattern  Woman  in  Proverbs — I 
may  say  that  what  tempts  more  men  to  dishonesty 
than  anything  else  is  their  wives'  extravagance. 

101 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Take  a  young  girl  who  never  did  any  marketing 
in  her  life,  and  set  her  to  providing  for  a  family. 
Ten  chances  to  one  she  throws  away  money  with 
both  hands.  The  kind  that  ordered  a  leg  of  lamb 
one  day,  and  told  the  butcher  next  day  to  send 
a  leg  of  beef!  That's  hardly  an  exaggeration. 
There  are  plenty  of  such  ignoramuses  in  Chris- 
tian America.  I  can't  call  them  fools,  for  they 
have  natural  sense  enough.  The  poor  things  have 
never  been  taught  the  main  thing  that  every 
woman — I  don't  care  what  her  station  may  be — 
ought  to  know.  She  may  never  need  to  do  her 
own  cooking,  but  she  must  be  able  to  teach  her 
servants.  At  any  rate,  to  know  whether  they 
do  their  work  properly  or  not." 

He  puffed  leisurely  and  meditatively.  Martha, 
her  back  to  him,  that  he  might  not  see  two  fur- 
tive tears  that  splashed  upon  her  hands,  seemed 
to  be  rearranging  the  brave  show  of  blue-and- 
gray  crockery  in  the  corner  cupboard. 

Unobservant  John  prosed  on,  his  eyes  follow- 
ing the  rings  of  smoke  rising  straight  until  they 
battered  themselves  to  pieces  against  the  ceiling : 

"  I'm  not  saying  that  men  think  of  these  things 
when  they  are  choosing  wives.  It's  a  pity,  maybe, 
they  don't  take  them  into  account.  A  woman 
who  is  a  good  housekeeper  is  likely  to  make  a 
fellow  happier  because  she  makes  him  more  com- 
102 


'I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  more  men  are  driven  to  drink  by  bad 
cooking  than  by  any  other  one  thing." 


John  Eats  and  Moralizes 

fortable  than  your  fine  musician,  or  painter,  or 
literary  woman — don't  you  know  ?  I  don't  mean 
a  fool,  of  course.  But  you're  a  living  proof  that 
a  woman  may  cultivate  her  intellect,  and  yet  be 
a  tiptop  housekeeper.  I  was  too  cross — because 
I  was  hungry — to  read  much  of  my  paper  on  the 
way  out.  But  I  did  happen  to  see  something  that 
fitted  in  so  neatly  with  what  I  was  thinking  about, 
and  what  I've  just  been  saying,  that  I  cut  it  out 
and  brought  it  home  to  show  you." 

Martha  came  behind  him,  and  patted  the  top 
of  his  head,  arresting  his  hand  on  the  way  to 
his  pocket. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  stay  in  here  with  me 
while  I  was  at  work,"  she  said,  gently.  "  Sup- 
pose we  go  into  the  library  before  you  begin  to 
read." 

They-  walked  into  the  tiny  nook  dignified  by 
the  stately  name.  John's  arm  was  around  her 
trim  waist.  He  was  very  much  in  love  to-night. 
Martha  pondered  upon  the  strong  probability 
that  his  dinner  had  to  do  with  the  rise  in  love's 
mercury.  She  was  sure  of  it,  after  he  read  the 
cutting  extracted  from  his  left-hand  vest-pocket: 

" '  I  cannot  understand  the  difference  between 
men  and  women  about  eating.  It  is  such  a  radi- 
cal difference,  and  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  any 
reason  for  it.  It  gave  rise  to  the  old  saw,  "  The 

103 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

way  of  a  man's  heart  is  to  his  stomach,"  and 
many  maidens  have  profited  thereby — if  gaining 
a  permanent  position  as  cook  is  to  be  regarded 
as  profit. 

"  *  The  man  who  comes  home  a  nervous  wreck, 
cross,  irritable,  taciturn,  after  a  meal  to  his  liking 
is  a  creature  to  conjure  with,  so  great  is  the 
change  wrought.  It  is  an  established  fact  that 
criminals  eat  well  when  awaiting  trial,  and  even 
execution.  Men  in  destitute  circumstances  will 
sacrifice  everything  for  the  sake  of  three  hearty 
meals  a  day,  where  with  women,  clothing,  or,  in 
rarer  instances,  reading  matter,  is  a  first  con- 
sideration. 

"  '  Men  in  distress  go  and  eat — and  feel  better; 
if  women  attempt  it,  they  feel  worse.  The  very 
thought  of  food  repels  them ;  it  chokes  them,  and 
actually  does  them  more  harm  than  good.  To 
eat  in  a  time  of  grief  seems  to  them  sacrilege. 
They  cry  out  against  the  necessity  after  days  of 
fasting,  and  yield  only  in  degrees.  Women  can- 
not suffer  and  eat  at  the  same  time.  Men  can 
And  that  is  the  difference  I  cannot  understand/ 

"  Nor  I  either !  "  supplemented  John,  relight- 
ing his  cigar,  which  had  gone  out  during  the 
reading.  "  But  every  word  of  that  is  as  true  as 
gospel.  I'd  like  to  shake  hands  with  the  fellow 
who  wrote  it,  whoever  he  was." 
104 


John  Eats  and  Moralizes 

He  turned  the  slip  of  paper  over,  and  looked 
at  the  back,  as  if  expecting  to  find  the  signa- 
ture. 

"  His  head  is  level,  and  it  has  brains  in  it." 

Martha  had  her  mending-basket,  and  was  run- 
ning inquisitive  fingers  into  the  toes  of  a  pair 
of  socks,  using  more  energy  than  was  quite  need- 
ful to  establish  the  fact  that  the  web  was  thin 
in  one  spot. 

"  No  man  ever  wrote  that ! "  she  said,  em- 
phatically. "  How  should  he  know  that  women 
can't  eat  and  suffer  at  the  same  time?  Nobody 
but  a  woman  comprehends  how  the  bottom  seems 
to  drop  out  of  the  stomach,  and  the  heart  fol- 
lows after  it  into  a  great  gulf  of  nausea  and 
nothingness,  when  she  is  worried,  or  anxious,  or 
grieved." 

"  I  want  to  know ! "  said  John,  who  had  New 
England  blood  in  his  veins.  "  You  poor  little 
kitten !  But  he — or  she — has  got  the  nervous 
wreck  of  a  man  down  cold.  '  Cross,  irritable, 
taciturn ! '  hits  straight  from  the  shoulder.  And 
how  the  meal  to  his  liking — that  would  be  a 
capital  soup,  a  tiptop  steak,  seraphic  scalloped 
potatoes,  ravishing  macaroni,  and  a  bewitching 
cup  of  coffee — with  the  nicest,  cleverest,  sweetest 
woman  in  creation  at  the  head  of  the  table — 
makes  a  tolerable  saint  of  him." 

105 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Martha  had  no  sense  of  humor,  as  I  have 
remarked.  Sound  sense  and  an  even  temper  kept 
her  from  being  hurt  at  the  anticlimactic  adjec- 
tives. She  was  thankful  that  she  was  nice,  clever 
and  sweet  after  the  experience  of  days  which 
must  ever  abide  in  her  memory  as  blots  she  would 
fain  make  blanks.  The  needle  shook  between  her 
fingers;  her  feet,  hands  and  heart  grew  cold  in 
reflecting  how  near  she  had  come  to  the  loss  of 
her  husband's  respect — perhaps  of  his  affection. 
By  his  confession,  the  partial  fast  of  forty-eight 
hours  had  reduced  him  to  the  verge  of  savagery. 
He  might  choose  to  forget  the  horrors  of  charred 
roast  and  uneatable  croquettes  in  the  present  sat- 
isfaction. That  they  had  told  upon  him  was  evi- 
dent from  the  trend  of  his  musings  and  moral- 
izings. 

A  sickening  sense  of  insecurity  obsessed  her. 
She  had  learned  how  to  cook  one  dinner,  but 
there  must  be  a  variety.  Must  she  humble  her- 
self to  lean  from  day  to  day  upon  Rosa  Risley? 
If  she  would  enter  and  maintain  the  queendom 
of  Home,  must  she  become  as  a  little  child? 

John  was  a  sound  sleeper,  and  a  dutiful  hus- 
band, never  opening  his  eyes  in  the  morning  until 
he  was  called  just  in  time  to  dress  for  breakfast. 
He  was,  therefore,  no  wiser  for  the  early  visit  of 
his  wife's  ex-colleague  and  present  preceptor.  It 
1 06 


John  Eats  and  Moralizes 

had  been  arranged  the  previous  day  that  the 
second  lesson — Rosa  called  it  "  clinical  house- 
wifery " — should  be  given  at  the  ungainly  hour 
of  6:30  A.M. 

"  Tom  is  away.  Baby  always  sleeps  until 
seven,  and  if  she  should  awake,  Mary  will  run  up 
to  her,"  explained  the  "  boss."  "  I'm  going  to 
bring  over  some  apples.  A  friend  in  the  country 
sent  me  a  bushel  last  week,  and  you  are  going 
to  cook  bacon  and  apples  for  breakfast.  A  dish 
fit  for  a  king — or  for  your  John,  who,  I  insist 
and  contend,  isn't  to  know  one  thing  about  this 
select  class.  I'll  slip  out  of  my  back  door  and 
into  yours.  Mary  needn't  know  why  I  come.  I 
told  her  you  were  an  old  friend,  and  we  were 
going  to  be  very  neighborly." 

True  to  appointment,  the  merry  face  appeared 
in  the  gray-and-blue  kitchen.  True  to  her  prom- 
ise, she  never  touched  apples,  bacon  or  any  other 
part  of  the  embryo  meal.  She  did  sit  between 
work-table  and  stove,  and  direct  Martha's  every 
movement.  Her  pupil  was  as  apt  as  willing.  To 
the  unaccustomed  task  she  brought  the  intelli- 
gence and  quickness  of  apprehension  of  the 
mature  thinker.  Having  done  a  thing  once,  she 
was  in  no  danger  of  forgetting  the  least  detail 
of  the  operation.  Before  she  slept  last  night 
she  had  entered  in  her  Household  Record  the 

107 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

recipes  for  cooking  each  of  the  dishes  her  hus- 
band had  praised  as  his  saviors  from  savagery. 

"  Clever  girl !  "  nodded  Rosa,  when  Martha 
asked  her  to  audit  the  formulas.  "  I  wish  I  had 
half  your  brains!  A  child  could  follow  those 
recipes.  The  tables  will  be  turned  in  less  than  a 
year.  You'll  be  teacher,  and  I  the  scholar.  The 
next  time  you  have  apples  and  bacon — and  Tom's 
away — I'll  show  you  how  to  make  corn-bread. 
It  is  '  bully  '  with  apples  and  bacon ! 

"  Now — dish  them,  and  set  the  dish,  covered, 
over  a  pan  of  boiling  water.  It  won't  hurt  them 
to  stand.  The  toast  you  can  make  after  calling 
Mr.  Purcell.  Don't  forget  to  pare  the  crust  off 
neatly.  Even  Mr.  F.'s  aunt  wouldn't  eat  toast- 
crusts.  Sensible  old  party!  I  forgot  you  didn't 
care  for  Dickens,  and  so  have  never  made  her 
acquaintance.  We  go  to  market  at  nine  o'clock, 
and  I'm  to  bring  baby  over  at  half-past  five — 
did  you  say  ?  Good-by !  " 

Undemonstrative  Martha  put  her  arms  about 
the  "  boss,"  and  kissed  her  fervently. 

"  My  good  angel !  "  she  murmured.  "  And 
some  day — when  I  really  know  something — 
when  I  can  walk  without  a  crutch — I  must  tell 
John,  and  let  him  thank  you,  too !  " 

Before  awakening  him,  the  wife  stood  in  the 
outer  door,  tasting  the  freshness  of  the  autumnal 
1 08 


John  Eats  and  Moralizes 

day.  The  dew  upon  the  sward  of  the  lawn  was 
delicately  frosted;  the  hardy  honeysuckle,  which 
would  bloom  until  the  snow  flew,  shook  clusters 
of  scented  bells  in  the  breeze  rising  with  the  sun. 
The  well-read  woman  saw,  felt  and  enjoyed 
it  all.  Yet  as  she  tripped  upstairs,  elate  in  the 
consciousness  that  an  orderly,  tempting  meal 
awaited  the  lord  of  her  soul,  this  quotation  was 
uppermost  in  her  mind : 

Happy  in  this,  she  is  not  yet  so  old 
But  she  may  learn;  happier  than  this, 
She  is  not  bred  so  dull  but  she  may  learn. 


109 


CHAPTER   IX 

ENTER    BRIDGET 

Mischief!  thou  art  afoot. 

Take,  then,  what  course  thou  wilt! 

SHAKESPEARE,  Julius  Casar. 

THE  October  roses  were  abloom  again  in  the 
corner  of  the  little  lawn,  and  the  hardy  honey- 
suckle bells  swung  in  the  crisp  breeze.  The  wife 
of  a  year  stood  upon  the  piazza  to  watch  the 
stalwart  figure  of  her  Commuter  as  he  strode 
down  the  street  toward  the  station.  She  was 
still  an  early  riser,  and  she  made  punctuality  at 
meals  a  point  of  conscience.  John  always  had 
plenty  of  time  to  eat  his  breakfast,  and  the  break- 
fast was  worth  the  time  he  spent  over  it. 

When  he  disappeared  at  the  corner,  turning 
there  to  wave  his  hat,  Martha  walked  up  and 
down  the  porch  several  times  before  going  into 
the  house.  She  looked  happy,  but  thoughtful. 
Today  would  be  an  epoch  in  her  domestic  life. 

An  important  functionary  was  to  be  installed 
— a  "  general  house-girl,"  in  her  own  parlance ; 
no 


Enter  Bridget 

in  Martha's  more  refined  phraseology,  a  "  maid 
of  all  work."  John  had  insisted  upon  it,  and 
Rosa  had  warmly  seconded  his  insistence,  in  view 
of  a  momentous  Probability.  Martha  had  yielded 
to  the  combined  forces  with  her  usual  sweet  tem- 
per and  good  sense.  The  crucial  First  Year  of 
Wedded  Life  and  Housewifery  was  safely  over. 
Beginning,  as  her  teacher  enjoined,  with  the 
homely  rudiments  of  her  profession,  she  had 
mastered  it,  and  in  mastering,  had  learned  to 
love  it. 

Her  study  of  manuals  was  now  con  amore; 
from  a  copyist  she  had  become  a  composer. 
John,  stubbornly  incredulous  as  to  her  original 
ignorance,  was  grateful  to  Rosa  for  bringing  out 
his  wife's  talents  and  encouraging  her  to  have 
confidence  in  her  own  abilities.  He  was  passing 
proud  of  her  management,  and  revelled  in  her 
culinary  skill.  The  novitiate  had  been  arduous. 
How  full  of  trial,  of  failures,  of  downright  suffer- 
ing, none  but  those  who  have  gone  through  the 
ordeal  can  imagine.  Even  John,  quick  of  appre- 
hension where  his  wife  was  concerned,  had  not 
suspected  how  near  she  was  to  a  nervous  break- 
down in  July — when,  at  Rosa's  almost  tearful 
request,  he  had  permitted  Martha  to  anticipate 
his  vacation  by  a  fortnight  and  go  with  Mrs. 
Risley  and  her  baby  to  a  mountain  farm-house 

in 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

in  northern  New  Jersey.  She  told  him,  when  he 
joined  her  there  for  his  "  two  weeks  off,"  that 
she  had  slept  eighteen  hours  out  of  every  twenty- 
four  for  the  first  seven  days.  In  the  light  of  the 
Probability  mentioned  just  now,  he  supposed 
it  was  "  perfectly  natural."  Rosa  knew  better, 
and  was  strengthened  in  her  resolve  to  make  her 
daughter  learn  from  childhood  what  had  been 
acquired  by  the  woman  of  twenty-seven  by  bloody 
sweat  and  by  heart-throbs. 

"  She  shall  come  to  her  education  by  easy 
degrees,  and  not  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet 
and  under  the  lash ! "  vowed  the  energetic  little 
matron. 

The  Purcells  were  reckoned  the  most  unsocial 
people  in  a  neighborly  community.  Rosa  heard 
much  wondering,  and  some  unkind  criticism. 
She  repeated  neither  to  her  overwrought  friend. 

"  People  would  despise  her  if  I  were  to  repre- 
sent that  she  is  either  too  busy  or  too  tired  to 
make  visits,"  she  confided  to  her  Tom.  "  She's 
got  it  all  to  learn,  you  see,  and  she  is  determined 
to  learn  it  well.  She  does  nothing  by  halves. 
She'll  be  a  pattern  housekeeper  in  time,  if  she 
can  pull  through  the  apprenticeship." 

John  was  prospering  in  his  business.  John 
wanted  to  have  his  friends  visit  him  in  his  own 
home.  John  had  misgivings  that  his  wife  was 
112 


Enter  Bridget 

working  beyond  her  strength.  Every  other 
woman  in  her  set  had  at  least  one  maid-servant. 
John  didn't  marry  the  cleverest  woman  in  the 
United  States  of  North  America  to  make  a  bond- 
slave of  her. 

Strolling  for  five  minutes  in  the  honeysuckled 
porch,  Martha  acknowledged  for  the  hundredth 
time  that  John  had  reason  on  his  side. 

All  the  same,  she  had  a  dread — uncomfortably 
akin  to  a  presentiment  of  evil — of  introducing  a 
foreign  element  into  her  orderly  menage.  Now 
that  the  strain  and  stress  and  friction  of  the 
study  were  over,  her  pride  and  her  comfort  in 
her  beautifully  ordered  home  grew  stronger 
daily. 

She  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  set  about  re- 
storing it  to  order,  with  regret  that  was  jealousy 
tugging  at  her  heart-strings.  She  hoped  and  be- 
lieved that  she  had  made  a  judicious  choice  of 
a  servant.  It  was  unfortunate  that  Rosa  should 
have  been  called  to  the  bedside  of  her  sick  mother 
just  when  Martha  set  out  upon  the  business  of 
maid-hunting.  The  friend  and  pupil  of  the 
whilom  "  boss  "  had  come  to  lean  heavily  upon 
her  judgment.  In  her  absence  Martha  had  se- 
lected from  a  varied  and  not  too  tempting  assort- 
ment of  "  specimens  "  in  a  city  Intelligence  Office, 
a  woman  of  mature  years,  pronounced  by  her  last 

"3 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

employer  to  be  "  thoroughly  competent  for  gen- 
eral housework,  willing,  neat,  industrious,  honest 
— in  short,  all  that  could  be  desired  in  an  efficient 
and  trustworthy  servant." 

The  handwriting  and  composition  of  the  cer- 
tificate were  those  of  an  educated  woman.  The 
address,  written  below,  was  "  Mrs.  Abner  Charles 
Freeman,  Valley  View,  Orange,  N.  J."  Before 
engaging  the  treasure,  Martha  wrote  confiden- 
tially to  the  late  mistress,  asking  for  further  par- 
ticulars. The  reply  was,  if  possible,  more  satis- 
factory than  the  original  recommendation.  The 
imposing  personage  who  presided  in  the  Intelli- 
gence Office  "  had  known  Bridget  Connelly  for 
years,  and  was  sure  Mrs.  Freeman  would  not 
part  with  her  were  it  not  that  she,  with  her  fam- 
ily, was  intending  to  winter  abroad." 

Martha's  reluctance  to  introduce  a  hireling  into 
the  realm  where  she  had,  until  now,  reigned  su- 
preme, had,  as  she  candidly  admitted  to  herself, 
no  better  foundation  than  a  sort  of  Doctor  Fell- 
ish  distaste  to  Bridget's  personality.  Her  eyes 
were  hard  and  gray ;  her  lips  were  a  set  line,  and 
she  understood  herself  rather  too  well,  answer- 
ing respectfully  in  words,  assuredly  in  manner, 
every  question  as  to  her  qualifications  for  the 
place. 

Martha's  school-life  had  given  her  ample  op- 
114 


Enter  Bridget 

portunity  for  practising  the  art  of  control  of  sub- 
ordinates. She  had  no  doubt  as  to  her  ability 
to  keep  Bridget  in  her  place,  and  of  insuring  the 
faithful  discharge  of  the  duties  she  would  allot 
to  her. 

"  All  the  same,"  she  broke  out  again,  as  she 
closed  the  shutters  to  exclude  the  morning  sun- 
shine from  the  Symphony  in  Gray-and-Blue,  "  I 
hate  the  idea  of  her  coming!  If  I  were  as  well 
and  strong  as  I  was  four  months  ago,  I  should 
not  consent  to  it !  " 

She  was  of  the  same  opinion  still  when  ten 
o'clock  brought  Bridget  Connelly  and  a  distended 
valise. 

"  I  make  it  a  rewel  never  to  fetch  me  trunk  to 
a  place  till  I  know  whether  I'll  loike  it  or  no," 
she  said,  as  Martha  glanced  at  her  luggage. 
"  Mrs.  Freeman,  she  was  thot  anxious  fer  to  give 
it  house-room,  I  suspict  she  thinks  she'll  git  me 
back  ag'in  before  long." 

"  I  understood  that  she  was  going  abroad  at 
once,"  remarked  Martha,  quietly. 

"  An'  thot  she  is — nixt  wake.  But  th'  house- 
keeper is  an  ould  friend  av  mine.  She  is  tum- 
ble wishful  fer  me  to  stay  an'  be  coompany  fer 
her  this  winter." 

"  You  can  find  your  room  for  yourself."  The 
lady  pointed  to  the  third  story.  "  It's  the  first 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

on  the  left  as  you  go  upstairs.  When  you  have 
changed  your  gown,  come  down,  and  I  will  give 
you  orders  for  the  day." 

It  was  an  hour  before  the  Treasure  reappeared. 
She  had  on  a  stiffly  starched  purple  calico  skirt, 
a  pink  gingham  shirt-waist  and  a  white  apron; 
her  hair,  which  was  streaked  with  gray,  was 
combed  back  and  knotted  tightly  on  the  top  of 
her  head.  She  was  businesslike  and  uncompro- 
mising in  attire  and  in  mien.  Martha  preceded 
her  to  the  kitchen,  complacent  in  the  persuasion 
that  the  newcomer  would  lower  her  flag  of  nil 
admirari  superiority  to  cottage  and  inmates  at 
sight  of  the  Model. 

"  This  is  the  kitchen !  "  with  the  quiet  dignity 
she  had  maintained  in  catechising,  engaging  and 
receiving  the  maid.  "  You  will  find  everything 
in  perfect  order,  I  think.  I  am  very  systematic. 
'  A  place  for  everything,  and  everything  in  its 
place,'  and  '  A  time  for  every  duty,  and  every 
duty  in  its  time,'  are  two  excellent  mottoes  for 
mistress  and  maid.  This,  you  see,  is  the  pot- 
closet  ;  this  the  crockery-pantry ;  here  is  the  store- 
room " — stepping  briskly  from  one  to  the  other ; 
"  this  the  refrigerator,"  and  so  on,  until  the  rapid 
round  included  every  "  convenience  "  and  "  im- 
provement." 

All  was  spotless,  shining,  artistic — as  John 
116 


Enter  Bridget 

never  wearied  of  affirming — "  a  picture  of  a 
place." 

Bridget  stood  stock-still  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  her  hands  folded  upon  her  stomach,  the 
hard,  gray  eyes  following  the  alert  movements 
of  her  nominal  mistress,  her  face  a  hard  blank. 

"  Now,"  said  Martha,  the  introductory  round 
completed,  "  you  can  get  to  work  at  once.  Lun- 
cheon is  a  very  simple  affair,  Mr.  Purcell  never 
being  at  home  at  noon  except  on  Sunday.  There 
is  cold  lamb  in  the  refrigerator,  and  cake  in  the 
cake-box.  Besides  these,  we  will  have  bread  and 
butter  and  tea.  I  make  the  tea  on  the  table.  So 
you  will  have  a  couple  of  hours  in  which  to  get 
acquainted  with  your  new  surroundings;  to  find 
out  for  yourself  just  what  is  here,  and  where. 
After  luncheon  I  will  give  orders  for  dinner." 

Then  Bridget  unclasped  her  heavy  jaws,  and 
spake  with  her  tongue: 

"  'Twon't  take  me  long  to  take  account  av 
stock,  I  guess.  Things  is  all  very  clean,  an'  all 
thot,  I  will  say,  but  thot  limited-like  I'll  be  most 
afraid  to  turn  meself  around  fer  a  spell!  An'  I 
will  say  thot  there's  a  dale  av  frills  fer  sech  little 
room.  It'll  seem  quare  enough  afther  th'  front 
an'  back  kitchen  at  Mrs.  Freeman's.  To  say 
nothin'  av  a  laundry's  big  as  th'  ground  floor 
av  your  house,  an'  a  butler's  pantry  twice  th' 

117 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

size  av  my  bedroom  upstairs.  Howsomever, 
I'm  willin'  to  accommodate  meself  to  circoom- 
starnces." 

She  undid  her  hands  from  their  hard  lock 
upon  the  pit  of  her  stomach,  and  moved  toward 
the  pot-closet,  talking  as  she  went,  with  the  man- 
ner of  one  taking  full  possession. 

"  As  you  say,  a  body  has  to  git  use'  to  things. 
An'  if  so  be  I  should  find  there's  somethin'  want- 
in'  as  I  can't  git  along  widout,  I  can  call  to  you. 
You'll  be  in  your  bedroom,  ginerally,  I  s'pose? 
I  allers  say  it's  well  to  have  an  onderstandin' 
from  the  first.  It  makes  things  easier  all  around. 
Her  as  is  a  rale  leddy  kapes  to  her  part  av  th' 
house,  an'  th'  gurrel,  she  kapes  to  hers." 

She  had  her  back  to  the  astonished  mistress, 
and  was  pulling  saucepans  and  kettles  about  aim- 
lessly, the  loosened  tongue  going  all  the  while : 

"  There  is  them  what  won't  let  Her  step  her 
foot  into  th'  kitchen  from  wake's  ind  to  wake's 
ind  'pon  no  account  whatsoever,  but  says  I, 
'  Thot's  carryin'  things  a  leetle  too  fur,'  says  I, 
an'  so  long  as  She  knows  her  place,  an'  lets  me 
alone  in  mine,  there's  no  reason  we  shouldn't  git 
on  all  right.  Dear  Mrs.  Freeman,  now,  she  knew 
no  more  about  th'  inside  av  her  kitchen  nor  a 
baby  unborned,  as  you  may  say.  But  you  needn't 
worry!  Once  a  day  fer  you  to  look  in  to  save 
118 


Enter  Bridget 

me  th'  trouble  av  climbin'  th'  stairs  won't  break 
no  bones.  I  have  my  rewels,  but  I  ain't  so 
rewelable  as  many,  an'  I'm  thot  aisy-tempered  I 
know  how  to  make  allowances  fer  them  as  don't 
know  so  much.  At  dear  Mrs.  Freeman's  I  was 
allers  th'  peacemaker.  Ah,  but  she  was  th'  born 
leddy!  I  ain't  expectin'  to  meet  th'  likes  av  her 
ag'in.  No!  no!" 

She  shook  a  mournful  head  into  a  farina- 
kettle,  proceeding,  meanwhile,  to  separate  it  from 
the  companion  outer  vessel,  and  setting  them 
upon  different  shelves. 

Martha  pulled  herself  together.  Dismay  had 
not  soaked  the  stiffening  out  of  her  spirit. 

"  Please  put  that  rice-boiler  back  as  it  was  at 
first ! "  she  said  firmly.  "  The  two  belong  to- 
gether, and  should  never  be  used  separately. 
That  closet  is  in  order.  You  will  disarrange 
things  if  you  make  changes.  As  to  what  you 
have  been  saying,  I  .shall  always  reserve  to  myself 
the  right  to  come  into  my  own  kitchen  as  often 
as  I  like,  and  to  keep  every  department  of  my 
housekeeping  under  my  own  eye.  The  house  is 
my  husband's,  and  everything  in  it.  It  is  my 
duty  to  see  that  his  property  is  taken  care  of,  and 
properly  managed." 

Bridget  restored  two  knotty  hands  to  the  pit 
of  her  stomach.  They  looked  strong  enough  to 

119 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

.  strangle  the  woman  confronting  her.  Martha 
wondered  afterward  why  the  gruesome  thought 
occurred  to  her  just  then. 

"  Ah-h-h! "  shaking  her  head,  with  no  show  of 
resentment.  "  Dear  Mrs.  Freeman  knew  what 
she  was  talkin'  about  when  she  said,  '  Bridget, 
dear!'  says  she  (she  is  always  thot  affectionate 
wid  me!),  *  Biddy,  dear!  I  warn  you,  you'll  find 
it  different  livin'  wid  a  leddy  thot's  never  done 
a  han's  turn  av  wurk  in  her  loife,  an'  one  thot's 
had  to  labor  fer  a  livin'/  says  she.  '  It's  thot 
kind  what's  hard  upon  them  thot's  their  aiquils 
in  all  but  a  bit  av  money/  says  she,  th'  tears  in 
th'  swate  eyes  av  her." 

"There,  Bridget,  that  will  do!"  interrupted 
Martha,  still  keeping  temper  and  dignity.  "  The 
table  is  set  for  luncheon.  Come  into  the  dining- 
room  and  I  will  show  you  what  dishes  you  are 
to  use." 

This  done,  the  mistress  retired  from  the  field 
in  tolerable  order,  ashamed  and  angry  at  heart 
that  the  woman's  impertinence  had  stung  her  to 
the  soul ;  mortified  at  her  own  impotence  in  deal- 
ing with  ignorance,  vulgarity  and  self-conceit; 
most  of  all,  wondering  what  manner  of  woman 
had  put  the  detestable  combination  into  the  house 
of  a  sister-woman. 

The  morning  mail  brought  a  letter  from  Rosa. 
120 


Enter  Bridget 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you  in  the  hateful,  but 
necessary,  operation  of  selecting  a  maid,"  she 
wrote.  "  But,  like  being  born,  being  married, 
and  dying,  it's  a  thing  you  must  do  for  yourself 
and  of  yourself.  At  the  best,  you  buy  a  pig  in  a 
poke,  and  do  it  with  your  eyes  shut  at  that.  I 
offer  one  morsel  of  advice:  Don't,  if  you  can 
help  it,  get  a  cook  over  forty  years  old.  She'll 
probably  be  either  drunk  or  crazy — maybe  both. 
Catch  'em  young  and  bring  them  up  to  your 
hand." 

Martha  folded  the  letter  after  reading  it,  and 
sat  with  it  in  her  hand,  looking  out  of  the  window 
with  woeful  eyes. 

"  That  Horror  down-stairs  is  forty-five  if  she's 
a  day !  And  I  thought  that  an  advantage ! " 


121 


CHAPTER   X 

EXIT    BRIDGET 

If  the  world  will  be  gulled,  let  it  be  gulled ! 

BURTON,  Anatomy  of  Melancholy. 

ONE  nuggetlet  of  wisdom,  passed  into  the 
keeping  of  her  friend  and  pupil  by  Rosa  Risley, 
was: 

"  Never  refer  a  housekeeping  problem  to  your 
husband  until  you  have  done  your  very  best  to 
solve  it  for  yourself.  It's  cowardly !  And  it  isn't 
fair  unless  you  are  willing  he  should  unload  his 
business  worries  upon  you,  and  are  able  to  help 
him  out  of  them." 

Approving  the  sound  sense  of  the  advice, 
Martha  had  long  ago  ceased  to  cloud  John's  home 
hours  by  domestic  confidences  except  such  as 
were  pleasing,  making  much  of  successes,  and 
holding  her  peace  as  to  failures. 

So  it  came  about  that  the  new  mistress  of  the 
model  American  kitchen  reigned  absolute,  and 
ramped  unchecked,  for  four  whole  days  after  her 
usurpation.  She  was  a  tolerable  cook.  In  his 
satisfaction  in  what  he  imagined  was  his  wife's 
122 


Exit  Bridget 

relief  from  drudgery,  John  praised  everything, 
and  refrained  religiously  from  comparing  his 
commonplace  daily  food  with  the  dainty  variety 
to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  under  what  he 
named  "  the  former  chef"  Bridget  had  her 
"  evening  out "  on  Friday,  beginning  at  2  P.M., 
and  lasting  until  midnight.  She  could  not  be  in 
earlier,  having  been  over  to  Orange  to  take  din- 
ner with  Mrs.  Freeman's  housekeeper  and  to  say 
"  '  good-by '  to  the  blessed  angel,  who,  God  save 
her!  was  to  sail  next  Tuesday." 

Martha  saw  her  go  in  gladness  and  singleness 
of  heart,  and  gave  up  the  rest  of  the  day  to 
arranging  cupboards,  closets  and  store-rooms, 
sadly  disordered  since  they  left  her  hands.  Then 
she  got  up  a  supper  that  played  upon  John's  gas- 
tronomic nerves  as  the  sweet  south  wind  upon 
an  ^Eolian  harp. 

The  contrast  with  the  dinner  served  on  Satur- 
day evening  tried  his  affectionate  discretion  to 
the  utmost.  Martha  looked  pale  and  tired,  and 
was  unusually  silent.  In  masculine  ignorance  of 
what  he  would  have  resented  had  he  suspected 
it — Bridget's  lowering  mood  and  surly  snappish- 
ness  throughout  the  day,  and  the  effect  of  these 
upon  his  brave-hearted  "  little  woman  " — he  set 
down  pallor  and  preoccupation  to  physical  dis- 
comfort, and  made  talk  with  sedulous  vivacity. 

123 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

"Ah!  Apple-dumplings!"  he  ejaculated,  as 
Bridget — at  whose  darkly  portentous  visage  he  { 
had  never  troubled  himself  to  glance — thumped 
the  dish  on  the  table,  "i've  always  been  of  the 
same  mind  with  the  fellow  to  whom  Coleridge 
'  orated '  at  a  dinner-party  for  an  hour,  thinking 
he  had  a  most  appreciative  listener.  You  recol- 
lect the  story?  How  the  fellow  never  unclosed 
his  lips  until  the  apple-dumplings  were  brought 
in.  Then  he  slapped  his  thigh,  and  broke  out 
with  '  Them's  the  jockeys  for  me! '  What's  up, 
my  pet?  " 

Martha  sat,  the  image  of  dismay,  surveying 
an  ooze  of  uncooked  dough  issuing  from  the  gash 
she  had  made  in  one  of  the  sodden  balls,  prepara- 
tory to  putting  hard  sauce  into  the  heart.  John 
always  liked  her  to  sauce  his  pudding  before  pass- 
ing the  plate  to  him. 

She  forced  a  piteous  smile.  "  I'm  sorry,  dear, 
but  they  are  not  done!  You  could  not  eat  this !  " 
as  a  deeper  gash  revealed  the  raw  apple  embedded 
in  viscid  whiteness.  "  I  don't  see  how  even  She 
could  have  contrived  such  a  mess,"  forgetful 
of  Rosa  and  her  maxims.  "  Darling !  I  am 
ashamed  and  mortified !  The  soup  was  wretched 
— no  better  than  dish-water — the  meat  was 
burned  to  a  crisp,  the  vegetables  were  watery  and 
insipid — but  these  are  worst  of  all !  " 
124 


Exit  Bridget 

Artificial  composure  gave  way  before  a  big  sob 
that  tore  her  throat  when  she  tried  to  suppress  it. 

When  John  dropped  upon  one  knee  to  draw 
her  head  to  his  shoulder  with  fond  murmurs  of 
encouragement,  she  clung  to  him  and  cried,  hys- 
terically,— "Oh,  John!  John!  she  is  dreadful!" 

In  the  hazy  notion  that  her  wits  were  wander- 
ing, the  bewildered  man  rang  the  call-bell 
violently  once — twice — thrice.  Then,  as  there 
was  no  sign  of  the  feminine  help  he  craved,  and 
Martha's  sobs  and  gasps  increased  in  vehemence, 
her  hand  clutching  at  that  which  held  the  bell,  he 
laid  her  back  in  her  chair,  reached  the  door,  which 
was  ajar,  at  one  stride,  and  shouted,  "  Bridget ! 
where  are  you  ?  Mrs.  Purcell  is  very  ill !  Hurry ! 
hurry ! " 

Calm  and  stiff  as  an  ice-needle,  the  Treasure 
emerged  from  the  open  kitchen  door  and  halted 
upon  the  threshold  of  the  dining-room,  her  arms 
akimbo. 

"  I'm  none  surprised !  "  she  amazed  John,  and 
terrified  her  mistress  into  a  show  of  composure, 
by  enunciating,  raspingly.  "  It's  conscience — 
that's  what  it  is !  She  has  a  right  to  be  ashamed 
av  sech  doin's  as  I  found  this  day,  when  I  come 
back,  wid  me  hairt  fair  broke  wid  th'  pairtin' 
from  thot  born  leddy  an'  unborned  angel,  as  you 
might  say.  Me  kitchen,  as  I  had  spent  th'  betther 

125 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

pairt  av  three  days  a-settin'  to  rights  so's  a  Chris- 
tian body  could  fale  easy  into  it — all  upsot  an' 
darranged.  An'  then  to  call  me  soup  '  dish- 
Vather ! '  HER — that  was  a  wurkin'  gurrel  her- 
self— what  made  her  bit  av  money  th'  same  as 
me — to  fault  her  betters !  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  "  ordered  John,  begin- 
ning to  get  into  the  meaning  of  a  tirade  that  had 
been  in  an  unknown  tongue  until  the  repetition 
of  the  criticism  of  the  soup  struck  his  ear.  "  How 
dare  you  speak  so  of  a  lady  ?  " 

"  Is  that  what  ye  call  her?  "  sneered  the  virago, 
still  mistress  of  temper  and  tongue.  And  as  he 
made  a  step  toward  her,  "  I  wish  ye  would  lay 
th'  weight  av  yer  hand  on  me!  I'd  hev  th'  law 
on  yez ! " 

Seeing  his  wife  motion  convulsively  toward  a 
glass  of  water,  John  held  it  to  her  lips ;  his  senses 
returned  in  force  and  in  order.  He  patted  the  wet 
face  uplifted  to  his,  kissed  the  lips  quivering  in  a 
poor  attempt  to  frame  an  entreaty. 

"  You'll  be  all  right  now,  as  soon  as  I  get  this 
woman  out  of  the  house,  dear," — in  gentle  re- 
assurance. 

" '  Woman ' — is  it  you're  afther  callin'  me  ?  " 
struck  in  the  Treasure.  "  There's  law  to  be  hed 
fer  ugly  wurds,  too,  I'll  hev  yez  to  know !  " 

Then — John  laughed,  and  Martha  joined  in 
126 


Exit  Bridget 

feebly  and  disjointedly,  the  climax  appealing  even 
to  her  sense  of  the  ridiculous. 

Bridget  took  fire.  "  This  is  what  a  dacent  pair- 
son  gits  fer  takin'  service  wid  low-class " 

John's  gesture  cut  her  short.  He  drew  out  his 
watch. 

"  It  is  now  a  quarter  of  eight  o'clock.  Go  up- 
stairs and  get  your  duds  together,  and  be  off !  If 
you  are  not  out  of  this  house  in  fifteen  minutes, 
I'll  call  for  a  policeman  and  have  you  locked  up !  " 

He  was  surprised  and  Martha  stunned  when 
the  woman  turned  away  without  another  word, 
and  they  heard  her  steps  clattering  on  the  stairs. 

"  Oh,  you  splendid  darling!  "  cried  the  enrap- 
tured wife,  falling  into  his  arms.  "  How  grand 
you  are!  And  how  calm  and  strong!  I  should 
never  have  dared !  " 

"  Nonsense !  "  returned  the  well-pleased  lord 
of  creation.  "  All  that  is  needed  in  dealing  with 
that  kind  is  to  practise  a  tolerable  degree  of  firm- 
ness and  presence  of  mind.  You  should  have  told 
me  what  she  was  before  she  had  been  in  the  house 
an  hour.  I  should  have  made  short  work  in 
righteousness " 

Martha  caught  his  arm.    "  Hark !  " 

The  clattering  steps  sounded  again  upon  the 
stairs.  They  were  coming  down.  Martha 
pinched  her  husband's  arm  hard. 

127 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

"  She  is  going  to  beg  to  stay !  Don't  let  her, 
please,  dear  Jack !  " 

"  I  shan't!     Don't  be  frightened!  " 

Bridget  appeared  in  the  doorway,  bonneted 
and  shawled,  her  valise,  packed  and  strapped,  in 
hand,  her  umbrella  under  her  arm. 

"  I'm  off,  accordin'  to  yer  orders ! "  she  said, 
gayly.  "  Now  fork  over  me  wages,  an'  Fll 
never  set  foot  inside  yer  door  ag'in." 

John  took  out  his  pocketbook  and  extracted  a 
bill. 

"  There's  a  week's  pay,  although  you  have  been 
here  but  four  days.  Take  it  and  begone !  " 

Bridget  did  not  stir  to  take  the  proffered 
money.  Cocking  her  chin  impudently,  she 
snorted  derisively: 

"  Not  if  I  know  it !  I'll  hev  me  month's  pay 
or  nothin' — till  I  can  hev  th'  law  on  yez.  You're 
sendin'  me  off,  bag  and  baggage,  Saturday  night 
— turnin'  a  dacent  gurrel  into  th'  street,  fer  no 
fault  av  hern.  Th'  law  gives  me  me  full  month's 
wages,  an'  not  a  penny  less  will  do  me." 

John  jumped  up  in  a  fury. 

"  You  wretched  humbug !  It  isn't  enough  that 
you  have  ruined  my  property,  insulted  my  wife, 
and  been  abusive  to  me,  but  you  want  to  rob  me, 
too !  Get  out  of  my  house,  or  I'll  kick  you  out !  " 

It  was  so  evident  that  he  meant  what  he  said 
128 


Exit  Bridget 

that  the  woman  cowered  for  a  moment,  backing 
toward  the  front  door  as  he  advanced.  When  he 
strode  past  her  and  held  it  wide  open  with  an  in- 
voluntary twitch  of  the  right  leg,  she  marched 
out,  chin  in  air  and  shouldering  the  umbrella  mus- 
ket-wise. 

On  the  top  step  of  the  porch  she  wheeled  to 
say,  "  Yez  will  hear  from  me  on  Tuesday — God 
willin'I" 

By  Tuesday  morning's  mail  Mrs.  Purcell  had 
a  formidable-looking  envelope  bearing  the  stamp 
of  the  Legal  Aid  Society — an  admirable  organiza- 
tion in  its  way,  I  digress  to  remark,  and  one  with 
whose  object  and  working  Martha  was  pleasantly 
familiar  from  hearsay.  With  no  prevision  of 
aught  unpleasant,  she  opened  the  type-written 
single  sheet  enclosed : 

"MRS.  J.  E.  PURCELL: 

"  DEAR  MADAM  : — Bridget  Connelly  states  to  me  that  you 
owe  her  $20.00  for  services  rendered  while  in  your  employ. 
"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  receive  any  explanation  or  infor- 
mation regarding  this  matter  that  you  may  choose  to 
give  me,  either  at  my  office  personally,  or  by  mail.     Kindly 
answer  before  October  fifteenth.    On  that  day  the  appli- 
cant will  return  to  consult  me  regarding  further  action. 
"Very  truly  yours, 

"C.  P.  K , 

"Attorney  for  the  Legal  Aid  Society." 
129 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Martha  laid  the  letter  before  Rosa,  who  had  re- 
turned to  her  home,  released  by  her  mother's  con- 
valescence. 

"  It's  downright  robbery  on  the  woman's 
part!  "  decided  the  referee.  "  But  you'll  have  to 
pay  it.  If  she  had  discharged  herself  before  her 
month  was  up  she  would  have  forfeited  her  wages 
for  the  whole  term.  You  sent  her  away.  The 
rule  works  both  ways. 

"  In  the  eye  of  the  law  this  is  both  justice  and 
equity.  That's  an  eminently  respectable  and  hon- 
orable society.  They  wouldn't  take  the  matter 
up  if  there  was  anything  crooked  about  the  trans- 
action." 

"  But — "  Martha  rushed  into  a  recapitu- 
lation of  the  enormities  of  Bridget's  brief 
administration,  ceasing  presently  for  want  of 
breath. 

"  Granted ! "  said  the  other,  sententiously. 
"  Furthermore,  she  deliberately  planned  to  make 
you  discharge  her.  Her  valise  was  all  packed 
ready  for  her  flitting.  The  dinner  was  spoiled 
for  the  same  end.  There  are  women  in  her  class 
who  have  reduced  that  sort  of  thing  to  a  science. 
It  is  their  business.  I  knew  of  one  who  had  ten 
places  in  three  weeks,  and  got  a  month's  wages 
from  each.  She  cleared  a  tidy  sum  by  the  specu- 
lation." 

130 


Exit  Bridget 

"  Incredible !  "  cried  Martha.  "  Did  none  of 
her  employers  appeal  to  the  law  ?  " 

"  The  law  sustained  her.  She  was  dirty  at  one 
place,  utterly  incompetent  at  another,  wasteful 
in  a  third;  quarrelsome  and  impertinent  in  all — 
so  disagreeable  throughout  that  her  victims  were 
glad  to  send  her  packing  at  the  end  of  the  first 
twenty- four  hours !  " 

"  But  the  Intelligence  Offices  that  recom- 
mended her?  Surely  they  are  responsible!  It's 
like  palming  off,  damaged  goods  upon  customers." 

Rosa  snapped  her  fingers  in  the  air. 

"  Their  responsibility  doesn't  amount  to  that! 
They  accept  a  reference  from  the  last  place,  and 
no  questions  asked.  It  is  your  business  to  look 
up  the  former  employer — and  to  sift  evidence." 

"  They  ought  to  have  agents  to  do  this !  "  in- 
sisted honest  Martha. 

"  And  we  ought  to  be  angels,  my  dear !  Which 
we  are  not  likely  to  be  while  the  *  hired  girl,'  who 
would  leave  if  you  called  her  a  '  servant/  rules 
the  roast — or  roost,  whichever  it  is." 

Martha  was  resolute  in  self-vindication: 

"  I  wrote  to  the  address  given  me  at  the  office ; 
I  saw  the  '  confidential '  memorandum  on  the 
books — a  certificate  from  Mrs.  Freeman  pasted 
upon  the  page.  Nothing  could  be  more  satisfac- 
tory, unless  it  were  the  letter  she  wrote  to  me.  I 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

don't  see  what  more  I  could  have  done  to  pro- 
tect myself." 

Rosa  was  in  a  brown  study. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think,  with  Betsey  Prig,  that 
'  there  ain't  no  such  a  person  as  Mrs.  Harris ' — 
alias  Mrs.  Freeman.  That's  another  trick  of  the 
trade.  There  are  people  who  make  part  of  their 
living  by  writing  certificates  for  maids,  and  even 
for  men  who  want  better  places  than  their  actual 
records  would  get  them.  My  brother,  Dick  Dunn, 
is  a  newspaper  man.  They  have  ways  of  find- 
ing out  everything.  I'll  set  him  upon  Mrs.  Free- 
man's track." 

John  had  just  had  a  threatening  lawyer's  letter, 
and  was  brimful  of  fight,  when  she  ran  in,  a  few 
days  thereafter,  to  report  the  result  of  the  news- 
paper man's  detective  work.  Mrs.  Freeman  was 
Bridget  Connelly's  sister,  who,  having  been  edu- 
cated as  a  sub-teacher  in  a  parochial  school,  could 
write  and  spell  and  compose  grammatically.  She 
had  married  a  workman  in  an  Orange  hat  factory, 
and  they  lived  in  a  story-and-a-half  cottage  near 
the  works.  Her  sister  lived  with  her  when  "  out 
of  place,"  a  thing  which,  the  neighbors  remarked, 
"  happened  quite  often." 

John  carried  this  story  and  his  own  to  the  In- 
telligence Office  next  day.  He  was  received 
suavely,  heard  attentively,  and  answered  respect- 
132 


Exit  Bridget 

fully.  When  he  had  finished  the  tale,  he  was  as- 
sured that  Bridget  Connelly's  name  should  be  ex- 
punged from  the  books  of  the  highly  respectable 
concern,  and  that  she  should  never  get  another 
situation  through  the  instrumentality  of  that 
office. 

"Is  that  all?"  queried  John,  hotly.  "You 
leave  her  at  large  to  apply  at  any  other  office  and 
impose  herself  upon  other  unsuspecting  families 
by  means  of  a  lying  letter !  It  is  infamous !  " 

The  suave  Manager  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  It  does  seem  unjust  at  the  first  blush.  But 
we  cannot  set  the  world  right.  We  do  all  in  our 
power  to  advance  the  interests  of  our  patrons. 
The  wisest  and  most  careful  of  us  are  liable  to 
imposition." 

By  the  advice  of  a  legal  friend,  John  paid  the 
bill  presented  by  Bridget  Connelly — with  costs. 

The  disbursement  was  entered  thus  in  the  Ex- 
pense Book  of  the  irate  householder : 

"  To  first  lesson  in  American  Household  Serv- 
ice, $25.50  (twenty-five  dollars — fifty  cents}." 


133 


CHAPTER  XI 

THEIR    FIRST    DINNER-PARTY 

Every  law 

That  men  have  made  for  Man 
But  straws  the  wheat  and  saves  the  chaff 
With  a  most  evil  fan. 

Ballad  of  Reading  Jail. 

DISGUSTED  with  Intelligence  Office  methods  by 
her  first  experience,  Martha  chose  as  her  second 
maid-of-all-work  a  woman  who  was  permitted 
by  her  present  employer  to  advertise  from  her 
house. 

"  That  promises  well !  "  quoth  John.  "  Go  into 
town  this  very  day  and  see  *  the  present  em- 
ployer.' Make  out  a  list  of  questions  as  long  as 
the  moral  and  ceremonial  law,  and  put  her  faith- 
fully through  them  all.  Rake  her  fore  and  aft, 
and  make  sure  she  is  not  the  Treasure's  sister." 

This  last  point  was  settled  to  Mrs.  Purcell's 
satisfaction  by  the  appearance  of  the  house,  a 
four-story  brovvnstone  front  in  West  Eighty- 
eighth  Street.  Had  she  needed  confirmation,  the 
first  sight  of  the  mistress  of  the  home  supplied  it. 

Mrs.  Bryce  was  a  gentlewoman  in  look  and 
134 


Their  First  Dinner-Party 

bearing,  sweet-faced  and  sweet-voiced,  and  ami- 
ably anxious  that  Catherine  Moran  should  secure 
a  good  home. 

"  She  has  served  me  faithfully  fourteen  months 
as  laundress  and  cook's  assistant,"  she  said. 
"  She  is  neat,  willing,  good-tempered,  sober,  hon- 
est, and  does  her  work  well.  She  thinks  the  air 
of  New  York  does  not  agree  with  her.  She  has 
had  a  great  deal  of  headache  lately,  and  her  doc- 
tor advises  a  country  life.  On  this  account  she 
is  leaving  me.  I  will  call  her  in,  and  you  can  talk 
with  her  " — ringing  the  bell  as  she  spoke. 

"  Is  she  delicate  ? "  queried  Martha,  sus- 
piciously. 

Mrs.  Bryce  smiled.  "  You  can  judge  for  your- 
self. She  has  not  lost  a  day's  time  in  the  four- 
teen months.  But,  as  I  said,  she  has  had  trouble 
with  her  head  now  and  then." 

Martha  nodded  intelligently.  "  I  understand ! 
Constitutional  headaches!  My  mother  suffered 
fearfully  from  them.  She  used  to  say  that  people 
who  have  them  seldom  have  any  other  malady. 
And  there  is  nothing  better  for  them  than  change 
of  air." 

Catherine's  entrance  checked  the  discussion. 
She  was  fresh-colored,  well-built,  open-faced, 
well-mannered,  and  modest  of  speech.  Mrs.  Pur- 
cell  was  especially  struck  by  the  look  of  affec- 

135 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

tionate  gratitude  turned  upon  her  mistress  as  the 
examiner  concluded  the  catechism  by  saying: 

"  Mrs.  Bryce  speaks  so  well  of  you  that  I  am 
sure  you  will  suit  me,  and  that  we  shall  get  on 
well  together.  Can  you  come  at  once?  " 

Catherine  curtsied,  her  lip  trembled ;  tears  rose 
to  her  eyes. 

"  Mrs.  Bryce  has  always  been  too  good  to  me, 
ma'am!  I  can  come  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Bryce's  eye  glimmered  through  respon- 
sive mists. 

"  She  is  a  good  creature,"  she  added  to  her 
"  Good-morning  "  to  Mrs.  Purcell.  "  And  appre- 
ciative of  kindness.  A  rare  virtue  in  her  class !  " 

The  first  month  of  the  new  maid's  incumbency 
bore  out  all  that  had  been  said  by  the  former  em- 
ployer. She  was  an  excellent  cook,  and  better 
laundress;  she  loved  work,  and  kept  the  whole 
house  shining  clean;  she  took  to  John  at  sight, 
and  he  to  her,  and  further  won  the  hearts  of  hus- 
band and  wife  by  lively  interest  in  the  hopes  and 
plans  for  the  spring  that  engrossed  much  of  the 
young  matron's  time  and  thoughts. 

The  country  air  wrought  beneficially  upon 
Catherine's  health.  In  four  weeks  she  had  but 
one  "  bad  headache,"  and  that  was  so  considerate 
as  to  attack  her  one  day  when  she  had  the  house 
to  herself,  Mrs.  Purcell  being  in  the  city  shop- 
136 


Their  First  Dinner-Party 

ping.  By  dinner-time  the  maid  was  upon  her 
feet  and  sufficient  to  her  tale  of  duties,  albeit  hag- 
gard in  face  and  tremulous  of  hand.  Observing 
which,  her  compassionate  mistress  sent  her  off 
to  bed  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  and  cleared  up 
dining-room  and  kitchen  herself. 

Next  morning  Catherine  was  again  her  brisk, 
notable  self,  and  Martha  congratulated  herself 
anew. 

"  One  cannot  expect  perfection  in  any  servant," 
she  moralized  to  John.  "  If  this  one  proves  to 
have  no  worse  drawback  than  an  occasional  head- 
ache, we  are  most  fortunate." 

"  Right  you  are ! "  John  assented,  heartily. 
"  Thus  far,  my  dear,  you  would  seem  to  be  in 
luck." 

Martha  pulled  his  knee  from  its  resting-place 
upon  its  fellow,  and  seated  herself  upon  the  perch 
thus  offered,  taking  an  ear  in  each  hand  to  en- 
force his  earnest  attention. 

"  Do  you  know,  John  Purcell,  what  I  have  it  in 
my  mind  to  do,  should  Catherine  hold  out  as  she 
now  promises  to  do?  I  mean  to  give  a  dinner- 
party. On  your  birthday,  dear  boy.  A  real  din- 
ner, a  la  mode,  with  courses  and  entrees  and  hors- 
d'oeuvres  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  A  party  of  six — 
three  couples.  The  Fieldings,  the  Risleys,  and 
our  noble  selves.  Nothing  pretentious,  of  course. 

137 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

You  and  I  believe,  first,  last  and  always,  in  even- 
threaded  living.  I  can  manage  it,  I  am  sure. 
I  talked  it  over  with  Catherine  yesterday.  She 
took  to  the  notion  wonderfully.  You  saw  how 
nicely  she  waited  last  week  when  the  Risleys 
dined  with  us.  And  there  will  be  only  two  more. 
That's  one  good  thing  about  Catherine.  She 
likes  for  me  to  have  company.  She  says  it 
'  makes  the  house  lively,  and  is  good  for  me,' 
too,"  looking  away  from  him  shyly.  "  She's  an 
actual  comfort  in  many  ways.  I  only  hope  we 
can  keep  her." 

Hope  had  ripened  into  peaceful  assurance  by 
the  time  the  second  month  was  well  under  way. 
Catherine  was  unaffectedly  contented  with  her 
place,  and  increasingly  desirous  to  please  the 
mistress  she  served  as  such  as  freely  as  she  spoke 
of  herself  as  a  servant.  That  was  one  of  the 
many  things  Mrs.  Purcell  liked  in  her — a  list  that 
grew  longer  daily.  The  dinner-party  was  a  fixed 
purpose.  The  Fieldings  accepted  cordially;  the 
Risleys  gladly.  Rosa  rejoiced  generously  in  her 
friend's  good  fortune  in  securing  a  maid  so 
nearly  unexceptionable.  Her  Mary — one  of  the 
same  kind — affiliated  pleasantly  with  the  new- 
comer. They  held  sweet  counsel  together  on 
week-days  and  walked  to  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  in  company  every  Sunday. 
138 


Their  First  Dinner-Party 

Rosa's  lively  interest  in  the  dinner  reached  the 
point  of  offering  to  leave  the  baby  in  charge  of  a 
cousin  of  Mary's  on  the  important  evening,  while 
Mary  came  over  to  lend  a  hand  with  the  dishes. 

Catherine  respectfully  demurred.  She  was 
sure  that  she  could  get  along  alone.  She  had 
"  often  helped  with  big  dinner  companies  at  Mrs. 
Bryce's,  and  would  like  to  show  Mrs.  Purcell  how 
well  she  could  do." 

On  the  morning  of  the  important  Wednesday 
a  great  box  of  Japanese  chrysanthemums  was  sent 
out  from  the  city  to  Mrs.  Purcell.  Martha 
showed  the  card  to  her  husband  that  evening. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  I  couldn't  keep 
the  tears  back  when  I  read  it,"  she  said,  her  voice 
breaking  even  now. 

"  I  don't  blame  you !  "  returned  John,  reading 
it  aloud,  slowly: 

For  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Purcell, 

"With  the  humble  good-will  and  regards 

of  their  attached  servant,  Catherine   Moran!" 

"  There's  the  Irish  Heart  for  you !  "  subjoined 
John,  clearing  his  throat  as  his  voice  rose  into  a 
falsetto.  "  A  thing  we  hear  a  great  deal  of,  and 
meet  very  seldom.  She's  a  good  sort — that 
girl!" 

139 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

His  wife  drew  him  into  the  dining-room. 

Mrs.  Bryce's  table  was  never  set  more  taste- 
fully. From  the  candelabra,  with  their  pink  silk 
shades,  to  the  single  pink  chrysanthemum  of  the 
same  shade  laid  at  each  plate,  the  rest  of  the  box- 
ful clustering  in  a  wide  bowl  upon  the  embroid- 
ered centrepiece — every  detail  was  harmonious, 
and  the  effect  altogether  charming. 

"  Here  is  the  menu,"  resumed  Martha,  putting 
a  paper  into  his  hand,  after  John  had  said  all  this 
in  effect  and  more. 

He  read  it  aloud,  as  he  had  read  the  card : 

Grape-Fruit 

Ox-Tail  Soup 

Oysters  a  la  Newberg 

Chicken  en  Casserole 

Sweet  Potatoes  Green  Peas 

Lettuce  and  Tomato  Salad 

Crackers  and  Cheese 

Frozen  Pudding  and  Cake 

Salted  Nuts  Olives  Celery 

Bonbons  Fruit 

Coffee 

"  Whew !  "  John  looked  scared.  "  I  say,  little 
woman!  aren't  you  getting  a  little  out  of  your 
depth?  This  sounds — one  might  say,  positively 
palatial ! " 

140 


Their  First  Dinner-Party 

"  I  knew  you'd  say  just  that ! "  clapping  her 
hands.  "  Now — John  Easton  Purcell !  hearken 
unto  your  wife!  Every  dish  there  was  prepared 
in  this  blessed,  unpalatial  cottage  of  ours — even 
the  frozen  pudding!  Haven't  we  a  pearl  of  a 
cook?" 

"  And  a  diamond  of  a  wife ! "  interpolated 
John,  with  appropriate  action. 

"  And  a  husband  whose  price  is  above  rubies!  " 
Martha's  response  was  ready  and  fervent.  "  Oh, 
Jacky,  darling!  I  think  I  was  never  so  happy 
before  as  I  am  on  this,  your  birthday.  I  have 
been  repeating  to  myself  all  day  a  saying  of 
Thoreau :  '  I  have  never  got  over  my  surprise 
that  I  should  have  been  born  into  the  most  esti- 
mable place  in  all  the  world,  and  in  the  very  nick 
of  time,  too.' ' 

She  wore  her  one  real  evening  dress,  pale  pink 
brocaded  silk,  modestly  decollete,  and  trimmed 
with  real  lace.  John  told  her  he  had  never  seen 
a  prettier  woman,  and  his  eyes  continued  the 
story  throughout  the  orderly  progress  of  the 
meal.  Rosa  wore  white  silk,  decorated  with  sil- 
ver passementerie;  Mrs.  Fielding,  black  velvet 
and  point-lace. 

A  well-appointed  dinner-party  is  always  pic- 
turesque to  an  artist's  eye.  This  one  made  a 
goodly  picture,  with  the  massed  plumy  blossoms, 

141 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

the  chastened  lights,  the  shine  of  glass  and  silver 
upon  the  snowy  cloth,  the  circle  of  elegantly  at- 
tired revellers  closed  about  it. 

Catherine,  the  very  moral  of  a  neat-handed 
Phillis,  in  regulation  black  gown,  bretelled  apron, 
white  collar,  cuffs  and  cap,  waited  swiftly,  noise- 
lessly, and  without  a  blunder,  through  five 
courses.  The  soup  of  her  making  was  hot  and 
savory;  the  oysters  were  a  miracle  of  flavor;  the 
chickens  were  smothered  to  a  turn  of  brown  juici- 
ness; the  mayonnaise  would  have  done  credit  to 
a  French  chef.  Martha,  chatting  gayly  with  Mr. 
Fielding,  had  not  a  misgiving  as  to  the  rest  of 
the  even-threaded  feast,  as  she  inclined  her  head 
slightly  to  the  left  to  allow  Catherine  to  set  the 
frozen  pudding — pink  of  complexion,  melon- 
shaped,  firm  and  smooth  as  alabaster — down  in 
front  of  her. 

At  that  instant  a  horrid  cry — a  gurgling 
screech — sounded  in  her  very  ear — something 
heavy,  ice-cold  and  slippery,  struck  the  back  of 
her  neck,  rebounded  upon  the  table,  and  landed 
in  Rosa's  lap,  the  gurgling  and  screeching  going 
on  the  while  with  a  scratching,  clawing,  roll- 
ing noise  behind  her,  like  the  snarls  of  a  fighting 
dog. 

All  were  on  their  feet  in  a  second;  John  and 
Mr.  Risley  sprang  forward  to  lay  hold  of  the 
142 


Their  First  Dinner-Party 

writhing  Thing  on  the  floor  behind  the  mistress' 
chair. 

Somebody  cried,  "  She  has  a  fit!  " 

Quick-witted     Rosa    put    both    hands    over  X 
Martha's    eyes;    Mrs.     Fielding,    with    ready 
womanly  apprehension,  helped  draw  her  out  of 
sight  into  the  hall,  where  Martha  sank  upon  a 
chair,  and  fainted  away. 

The  women  attended  to  her  as  well  as  they 
could,  without  giving  the  alarm.  They  laid  her 
upon  the  rug,  loosened  her  bodice  and  bathed  her 
face,  hoping  meanwhile  that  she  would  not  re- 
vive sufficiently  to  hear  and  know  where  she  was 
while  the  wild  commotion  went  on  in  the  inner 
room.  It  was  a  long  fit  and  a  strong  fit,  the 
strength  of  the  three  men  proving  inadequate  to 
control  the  convulsed  frame.  The  sufferer  got 
hold  of  the  table-cloth  and  dragged  it  down,  roll- 
ing herself  over  and  over  in  it  amid  the  crash 
of  china  and  glass,  crushed  flowers  and  iced 
water.  Howling,  fighting,  biting  and  scratching, 
she  was  a  fearful  thing  to  see  and  to  hear,  a 
dangerous  thing  to  handle. 

Rosa  left  the  swooning  hostess  long  enough 
to  telephone  for  a  physician,  giving  an  outline  of 
the  situation  in  terms  so  graphic  as  to  bring  him 
speedily  to  the  spot.  Without  ceremony  he  gave 
a  hypodermic  injection  of  morphine,  and  as  she 

H3 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

quieted  down,  sent  for  his  coachman  to  assist  in 
carrying  the  epileptic  to  her  chamber. 

Then  he  turned  his  attention  to  Mrs.  Purcell. 

A  week  later  Mr.  John  Purcell's  card  was 
brought  to  Mrs.  Bryce,  as  she  sat  placidly  at  ease 
in  her  sitting-room. 

"  That  was  the  name  of  the  people  to  whom 
poor  Catherine  went,"  remarked  she  to  her 
daughter,  making  ready  to  see  the  visitor.  "  I'm 
afraid  they  have  found  her  out ! " 

She  was  not,  however,  prepared  for  the  stern 
gloom  of  the  face  that  confronted  her  in  the 
drawing-room.  John  was  walking  the  floor  rest- 
lessly, and  declined  the  chair  to  which  the  urbane 
lady  motioned  him. 

"  No,  thank  you !  My  errand  will  be  quickly 
done.  I  am  here,  Mrs.  Bryce,  to  ask  why  you 
recommended  the  woman  Catherine  Moran  to 
my  wife  when  you  knew  her  to  be  subject  to  vio- 
lent epileptic  fits.  You  knew  her  to  be  a  danger- 
ous inmate  of  any  house,  doubly  dangerous  when 
the  mistress  of  the  house,  who  is  the  only  other 
person  in  the  house  all  day  long,  is  in  a  delicate 
state  of  health.  Mrs.  Purcell,  suspecting  nothing 
of  the  cruel  fraud  practised  upon  her,  was 
shocked  into  a  fainting-spell  when  the  woman  fell 
into  a  terrible  fit  at  a  dinner-party  we  gave  a  week 
y  ago.  Convulsions  followed  the  swoon.  I  hold 

144 


Their  First  Dinner-Party 

\ 
you,  madam,  guilty  of  the  death  of  my  unborn  » 

child,  possibly  of  my  wife's.  She  is  still  criti- 
cally ill.  There  should  be  a  law  to  reach  you. 
I  am  told  there  is  none.  I  am  told,  too,  that  you 
are  a  Christian  woman,  with  a  reputation  for 
amiability.  Also,  that  you  have  daughters  of 
your  own.  How  could  you  reconcile  it  to  your 
conscience  to  do  this  wrong  to  a  fellow-woman? 
A  woman  who  trusted  you  ?  By  Heaven,  madam ! 
you  would  not  be  more  guilty  in  my  eyes  and  in 
the  eyes  of  all  sane,  humane  people  if  you  had 
rolled  a  keg  of  gun-powder  into  my  cellar  with 
a  slow  fuse  fast  to  it ! " 

Mrs.  Bryce  was  crying.  Her  tears  came 
easily,  and  she  was  frightened  almost  out  of 
her  senses  by  the  fierceness  of  the  unexpected 
assault. 

"  I  am  inexpressibly  shocked  and  distressed  at 
what  you  tell  me !  "  she  articulated  between  sobs. 
"  I  told  my  daughters  that  Catherine  would  do 
some  mischief  some  day — poor  soul !  I  kept  her 
as  long  as  possible,  I  was  so  sorry  for  her !  and  it 
was  an  affliction,  not  a  fault,  Mr.  Purcell.  The 
finger  of  God  had  touched  her,  as  you  might  say. 
And  she  is  as  good  a  creature  as  ever  lived.  I 
have  told  the  other  servants  so,  times  without 
number,  but  it  got  to  that  pass  that  none  of  them 
were  willing  to  stay  with  her,  for  she  couldn't 

145 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

always  be  counted  upon  to  have  her  bad  turns  in 
the  back  kitchen." 

"  So  you  foisted  her  and  her  fits  upon  your 
neighbors !  "  broke  in  John,  savagely.  "  There's 
religion  and  the  Golden  Rule  for  you ! " 

"  But,  Mr.  Purcell !  "  forgetting  to  sob  in  the 
earnestness  of  the  appeal,  "  could  I,  as  a  Chris- 
tian woman,  with  one  atom  of  humanity,  deprive 
an  innocent,  suffering  girl,  who  means  as  well  as 
ever  mortal  meant,  of  the  only  chance  she  can 
ever  have  to  earn  an  honest  living?  If  I  had  told 
Mrs.  Purcell  the  truth,  she  would  not  have  had 
the  poor  thing  for  one  hour  in  her  house.  Nor 
would  anybody  else.  There  would  be  nothing 
but  the  street,  or  the  poorhouse  for  her — as  nice 
and  industrious  and  sweet-tempered  a  girl  as  ever 
lived ! 

"  Mrs.  Purcell  will  recollect  that  I  did  give  her 
a  sort  of  warning.  I  told  her  Catherine  was  sub- 
ject to  headaches.  And  our  family  physician  did 
say  she  would  probably  have  fewer  attacks  in  a 
quiet  country  place.  My  conscience  is  quite  clear 
on  that  score,  Mr.  Purcell.  Any  kind-hearted 
person  would  have  acted  in  the  same  way.  /  can- 
not bring  myself  to  grind  the  faces  of  the  poor, 
or  to  take  the  bread  out  of  an  honest  laborer's 
mouth ! " 


146 


CHAPTER   XII 

JOHN    BRINGS    HOME    FRIENDS    TO    DINNER 

With  despatchful  looks  in  haste 

She  turns  on  hospitable  thoughts  intent. 

MILTON,  Paradise  Lost. 

ONE  of  the  pleasant  customs  that  had  grown 
out  of  the  intimacy  between  the  Purcell  and  Ris- 
ley  households  was  the  morning  marketing,  done 
in  company  by  the  young  matrons. 

That  women  should  do  their  marketing,  and  in 
person,  was  a  necessity  in  Budfield,  as  in  other 
suburban  towns  where  commuters  do  congregate. 
From  eight  A.M.  to  five  P.M.  the  streets  were  as 
void  of  well-dressed  masculine  humanity  as  the 
alleys  of  a  convent  garden.  The  few  specimens 
of  the  genus  homo  left,  like  stranded  shallops 
after  a  freshet,  when  the  tide  of  life  had  ebbed 
in  the  arteries  represented  by  the  two  main  lines 
connecting  town  with  city,  were,  for  the  most 
part,  purveyors  of  provisions  and  keepers  of  what 
our  English  cousins  call,  "  thread-and-needle 
shops." 

"  Very  decent  shops,  too,  so  far  as  they  go," 
Rosa  was  saying  as  the  pair  strolled  along  on  the 

147 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

sunny  side  of  the  street  one  crisp  April  forenoon. 
"  Yet  some  women  must  run  into  town  if  they 
want  a  spool  of  No.  50  cotton,  or  a  paper  of 
darning  needles.  '  The  New  York  habit '  is  as 
hard  to  break  up  as  the  opium,  or  cocaine,  or 
Bridge  Whist  craze.  My  belief  is  that  it  is  one's 
duty  to  live  in,  and  for,  the  benefit  of  the  com- 
munity in  which  one  pretends  to  have  a  home. 
Tom  always  votes  in  Budfield,  and  I  deal  here 
when  I  can  get  what  I  want.  I  wouldn't  live  in 
the  city  if  I  had  an  income  of  twenty  thousand  a 
year.  Fancy  bringing  up  my  rose-bud  of  a  baby 
in  narrow  stifling  streets  and  a  five-room  apart- 
ment  " 

The  warm-hearted  speaker  cut  the  sentence  in 
the  middle  on  a  rising  inflection. 

For  Baby  Rosie  was  growing  daily  in  beauty 
and  winsomeness,  and  Martha,  who  had  had  a 
critical  illness  and  a  "  disappointment "  last  No- 
vember, had  turned  her  face  aside,  ostensibly  to 
estimate  the  dimensions  of  a  vacant  lot  over  the 
way. 

"  As  I  was  saying  " — Rosa  switched  back  upon 
the  track  she  had  left  for  a  siding — "  there  is 
nothing  to  be  had  in  the  city  that  we  can't  get 
here,  of  as  good  a  quality  and  almost  as  cheap." 

"  Except  servants ! "  corrected  Martha.  "  None 
of  them  like  the  country.  It  is  nothing  short  of 
148 


John  Brings  Home  Friends  to  Dinner 

a  miracle  that  Rebecca  has  condescended  to  stay 
with  us  thus  long.  Every  month,  when  I  pay  her, 
my  heart  stands  still  with  fear  lest  she  should 
say,  '  I'm  thinking  of  leaving  now  my  month  is 
up.  I  find  it  that  lonesome  out  here.'  As  one 
girl  told  me  when  I  mentioned  we  lived  here  the 
year  'round — '  You  see,  we're  flesh-and-blood, 
the  same  as  yourself,  if  we  do  have  to  work  for 
a  living,  an'  'tain't  in  human  nature  not  to  want 
to  live  where  there's  something  going  on/ 

"It  is  strange  there  is  no  law  obliging  mis- 
tress and  maid  to  give  a  month's,  or  at  least  a 
week's  notice  before  parting  company." 

"  It  would  be  strange  if  there  were  not  so  many 
queerer  things  connected  with  what  we  miscall 
our  System  of  Domestic  Service,"  quoth  Rosa, 
shrewdly.  "  Rebecca  gets  on  very  well  with  you, 
doesn't  she?" 

"  That's  the  right  way  to  put  it !  The  question 
is  not — *  Am  I  pleased  with  Rebecca's  works  and 
ways  ? '  but — '  Can  she  put  up  with  mine  ?  '  She 
enters  upon  her  fourth  month  to-day.  As  she 
gave  no  sign  of  dissatisfaction  when  I  paid  her 
wages  after  breakfast,  I  suppose  I  am  safe  for 
another  month.  She  has  some  good  qualities. 
She  is  very  neat  and  methodical,  almost  to  a  fault, 
requiring  little  oversight.  When  she  came  to  me 
she  said :  *  All  I  ask  is  to  know  what  my  duties 

149 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

is,  and  then  to  be  let  to  do  'em.'  She  cooks  well, 
is  a  good  laundress,  and  a  fair  waitress.  I  do 
most  of  the  chamber-work  myself,  and  dust  the 
drawing-room  and  library,  she  doing  the  sweep- 
ing and  heavy  cleaning." 

"  Between  you,  you  keep  your  house  in  a  state 
of  spick-and-spaniness  that  makes  me  blush  for 
my  happy-go-lucky  ways,"  said  generous  Rosa. 
"  But  you  are  always  thorough  in  whatever  you 
undertake." 

They  turned  into  the  "  Family  Market "  pa- 
tronized by  both.  "  Tom  "  was  off  upon  one  of 
his  many  business  trips,  and  the  grass-widow 
bought  four  chops.  Without  suspecting  it,  she 
affected  the  foreign  fashion  of  buying  food  in 
quantities  just  sufficient  for  the  day's  consump- 
tion. 

"  It  is  all  very  well  for  women  who  write  for 
the  papers  to  tell  poor  people  how  economical  it 
is  to  buy  by  wholesale,"  she  had  said  to  Martha 
on  the  way.  "  They  say  one  of  them  has  written 
a  whole  pamphlet  called,  '  What  to  do  with  the 
Cold  Mutton.'  I  know  what  one  husband  would 
do  with  it  when  it  turned  up,  smiling,  for  the 
fourth  time,  considerably  disfigured  by  over- 
cooking, but  still  in  the  ring.  He'd  shy  it  out  of 
the  back  window!  I  haven't  a  word  to  say 
against  such  dainty  entrees  as  you  get  up  out 
150 


John  Brings  Home  Friends  to  Dinner 

of  next-to-nothing,  but  with  the  average  cook 
a  made-over  is  usually  a  make-shift  and  a  mis- 
take." 

Even  she  stared  when  Mrs.  Purcell  ordered  a 
lamb's  liver,  for  which  she  paid  ten  cents,  hand- 
ing out  eight  cents  more  for  half-a-pound  of 
pickled  pork,  and  two  cents  for  a  bunch  of  soup- 
herbs. 

The  notable  housemother  was  not  superior  to 
me  innocent  vanity  of  amusement  at  her  friend's 
bewilderment,  and  explained  complacently  when 
they  were  again  on  the  sidewalk. 

"  John  likes  made  dishes — when  I  make  them  " 
— harmless  vanity  becoming  yet  more  apparent. 
"  Both  of  us  are  fond  of  liver  en  casserole. 
Lamb's  liver  is  as  good  for  this  purpose  as  calf's 
liver — we  think  better,  and  costs  one-fifth  as 
much.  I  shall  have  soup,  a  salad,  and  two  vege- 
tables, blanc  mange,  cake  and  coffee.  Come  over 
— since  Mr.  Risley  is  not  at  home — and  see  what 
a  royal  dish  can  be  served  up  for  twenty  cents, 
leaving  enough  for  mince  on  toast  for  to-mor-, 
row's  luncheon." 

After  a  little  more  merry  talk  the  invitation, 
given  half-jestingly,  was  accepted  in  good  ear- 
nest, and  the  friends  parted  at  the  corner  nearest 
the  Purcells  with  the  prospect  of  a  speedy 
meeting. 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Martha  carried  home  a  light  heart  and  smil- 
ing lips  that  hummed  a  snatch  of  one  of  John's 
favorite  songs  as  she  fitted  the  latch-key  in  the 
r~  lock.  Her  cottage  was,  as  Rosa  had  said,  neat 
and  orderly  to  a  degree  that  impressed  the  senses 
of  the  most  casual  observer  upon  entrance.  The 
polished  floor  of  the  hall  and  the  oaken  stairs 
shone  like  dark  mirrors;  through  the  open  doors 
to  the  right  and  left  one  had  glimpses  of  pretty 
furniture  tastefully  disposed,  of  snowy  curtains 
and  richly  colored  rugs,  all  seen  dimly  but  effec- 
tively in  the  chiaro-oscuro  of  bowed  shutters  tem- 
pering the  broadest  rays  of  the  April  sunlight. 

Like  tranquillity  and  even-threadedness  reigned 
in  the  gray-and-blue  kitchen.  Rebecca  had  fin- 
ished her  morning  "  redding  up,"  and  sat  in  a 
rocking-chair  by  the  window,  darning  a  thin  place 
in  a  glass-towel.  The  action  and  her  air  of  thrifty 
contentment  touched  Martha's  heart.  The  some- 
what prim  Phillis,  neat-handed  and  light-of-foot 
though  she  was,  had  never  really  appealed  to  her 
employer's  sympathies  before.  She  was  always 
kind  of  speech  and  manner  to  her  hirelings,  but 
there  was  friendly  cordiality  now  in  voice  and 
word: 

"  How  cosey  and  nice  you  look  in  here,  Re- 
becca! I  thought,  as  I  came  in,  what  a  pleasant 
picture  you  would  make,  sitting  there  in  your 
152 


John  Brings  Home  Friends  to  Dinner 

neat  blue  gown  and  white  apron.  You  and  the 
kitchen  suit  one  another  so  well !  " 

The  maid  had  not  risen  at  Mrs.  Purcell's  en- 
trance. Something  more  than  early  training  is 
required  to  drill  the  imported  article  in  the  minor 
courtesies  of  association  with  superiors  in  station, 
learned  as  soon  as  British  peasants  can  walk 
alone,  and  kept  in  continual  exercise  until  they 
come  to  a  land  where  every  man  is  a  little  better 
than  his  neighbor.  Rebecca  had  lived  in  "  nice 
families  "  before  taking  service  with  our  heroine, 
but  it  would  have  been  a  bolder  mistress  than 
Martha,  or  any  one  of  her  congeners,  who  should 
venture  to  remind  the  woman  of  any  lapse  from 
decorum.  She  owned  to  twenty-five  years  of  age. 
It  was  charitable,  according  to  John,  not  to  add 
more  than  ten  years  to  the  quarter-century.  She 
had  been  in  America  eight  years,  having  "  come 
over  when  she  was  a  slip  of  a  lass." 

She  went  on  composedly  with  her  darning 
while  Mrs.  Purcell  gave  an  account  of  her  mar- 
keting, and  ordered  her  usual  simple  luncheon. 
Rebecca  would  have  died  sooner  than  admit  to 
her  nearest  of  kin  and  closest  confidante  that  she 
had  an  easy  place.  Least  of  all,  would  she  have 
made  any  concession  to  that  effect  to  the  person 
whose  desire  to  instill  the  belief  into  her  mind 
was  obvious  in  every  action  and  look  in  the  daily 

153 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

living  they  had  together.  Consistent  to  the  tra- 
dition of  her  guild,  Rebecca  betrayed  no  sign 
of  gratification  at  the  compliment  to  herself  and 
her  surroundings.  She  was  never  sulky,  or  cross. 
Her  role  was  that  of  the  hired  machine,  and,  as 
she  would  have  phrased  it,  she  "  had  no  use  for 
blarney."  In  the  secret  of  her  narrow  soul  she 
supposed  that  Mrs.  Purcell  wanted  to  "  make 
something  out  of  her,"  whenever  she  bade  her  a 
bright  "good  morning,"  or  commended  her  work, 
and  was  continually  on  the  lookout  for  the  atten- 
dant imposition.  She  reckoned  herself  as  a  model 
in  her  line,  and  Martha  would  not  have  disputed 
the  claim.  She  was  tidy,  sober,  honest,  respect- 
ful, industrious,  faithful  in  the  performance  of 
every  duty  nominated  in  the  verbal  bond  between 
her  and  her  employer.  If,  as  Martha  said  every 
day  to  herself  and  occasionally  to  Rosa — never 
to  John — the  girl  showed  no  symptom  of  human 
interest  in  anything  or  anybody  in  the  household 
of  which  she  was  temporarily  a  part,  what  differ- 
ence did  that  make  so  long  as  the  work  she  was 
engaged  to  do  was  turned  off  in  good  style  and 
time? 

She  was  rehearsing  this  query  mentally  for  the 
fiftieth-and-first  time,  comparing  Rebecca's  sto- 
lidity with  poor,  epileptic  Catherine's  affectionate 
assiduity,  and  berating  her  own  unreasonableness 
154 


John  Brings  Home  Friends  to  Dinner 

while  she  laid  aside  her  hat  in  her  own  room, 
when  the  "Ting!  ting!  ting!"  of  the  telephone 
bell  in  the  lower  hall  caught  her  ear.  Before 
she  could  reach  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  the  teasing 
iteration  told  her  that  the  message  was  impera- 
tive, or  the  operator  in  a  bad  humor. 

John's  familiar  voice  reassured  a  spirit  slightly 
ruffled  by  the  importunate  summons: 

"  Oh,  it  is  you!  I  thought  it  was  an  alarm  of 
fire !  "  answered  his  hail — "  Hello !  Patty !  I've 
got  you — have  I?" 

His  message  was  important.  Two  business 
acquaintances  from  Richmond,  Virginia,  had 
called  at  his  office  and  he  had  asked  them  out  to 
dinner  that  evening — the  one  spare  night  they 
would  have  in  New  York.  He  would  bring  them 
with  him  at  six- forty-five. 

The  sensitive  wire  must  have  been  jarred  by 
the  energy  of  the  ejaculation. 

"Oh,  Jack!" 

"  Yes,  pet !  I  know  it  is  confoundedly  sudden, 
and  it  doesn't  seem  fair  to  spring  a  dinner-party 
in  this  way  upon  the  best  housekeeper  in  the 
world.  But,  indeed,  I  could  not  get  out  of  it! 
You  see,  I  have  been  entertained  at  both  of  their 
houses — and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  had  no  idea  they 
would  be  willing  to  go  into  the  country  just  for 
a  family  dinner.  They  '  hoped  Mrs.  Purcell  was 

155 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

well,'  and  I  said,  '  Won't  you  run  out  this  even- 
ing and  take  pot-luck  with  us  ? '  And  they 
jumped  at  the  invitation.  I  say,  little  girl !  don't 
put  yourself  out  for  them !  Let  them  have  what 
you  were  going  to  give  me.  I've  often  said  that 
you  act  upon  the  principle  that  what  is  good 
enough  for  your  husband  is  good  enough  for  the 
President.  Just  put  on  two  more  plates !  They 
are  jolly  fellows — free-and-easy  as  an  old  shoe. 
Oh,  I  say,  Patty!  they  need  not  know  that  we 
have  a  telephone.  I'll  let  them  fancy  that  I  do 
this  sort  of  thing  any  time.  They  do  at  the  South, 
you  know.  Don't  worry  your  sweet  soul  over 
nothing.  I'll  be  proud  to  have  them  see  my  wife 
and  our  home." 

It  was  not  in  wifely  heart  to  resist  the  lov- 
ing, deprecatory  pleading.  Martha's  annoyance 
melted  in  detecting  the  nervous  agitation  the 
loud  swagger  did  not  drown.  He  should  see  what 
reason  he  had  to  be  proud  of  and  to  trust  in 
her. 

"  All  right,  love ! "  she  called  back,  gallantly. 
"  What  is  the  use  of  having  a  real  home  of  your 
very  own  if  you  can't  ask  your  friends  to  visit 
you  whenever  you  like?  I'll  do  my  best,  and  I'll 
be  glad  to  know  the  two  jolly  fellows.  I'll  have 
the  spare  room  all  ready  in  case  you  should  wish 
to  keep  them  over-night.  They  can't  stay? 
156 


John  Brings  Home  Friends  to  Dinner 

Well,  they  can  go  up  there  to  wash  their  hands 
and  brush  off  the  dust.  Don't  thank  me,  darling ! 
It's  nothing!  Oh,  nonsense!  there  are  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  other  women  who  do  just  the 
same  and  better.  Good-bye !  " 

Before  leaving  the  telephone,  she  rang  up  her 
provision  merchant,  and  ordered  a  pair  of  fat 
young  fowls  for  roasting,  also  spinach  and  cel- 
ery. Next,  the  confectioner  was  interviewed, 
and  the  florist.  Finally,  she  walked  back  into 
the  kitchen,  flattered  by  the  consciousness  of 
heroic  resignation  to  the  inevitable,  and  of  her 
executive  ability,  into  positive  enjoyment  of  the 
unexpected  complication  forced  upon  her. 

As  at  her  mistress'  former  appearance,  Re- 
becca had  kept  her  seat  and  gone  on  with  her 
sewing.  This  time  she  did  not  look  up,  even 
when  Mrs.  Purcell  stood  within  three  feet  of  her. 
Martha  would  not  believe  her  intentionally  im- 
pertinent. She  had  had  no  reason  to  think  her 
bad-tempered.  The  woman  was  ill-mannered  for 
the  want  of  proper  discipline  in  the  first  places  she 
had  had  in  America.  Her  very  far-back  former 
employers  had  been  remiss  in  their  duty  to  the 
domestic,  to  themselves  and  to  their  order.  Mar- 
tha was  beginning  to  detest  former  employers  as 
a  class.  This,  while  she  had  no  mind  to  under- 
take any  training  on  her  own  account.  The 

157 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

manners  of  maids  who  "  own  up  "  to  twenty-five, 
are,  like  Dora  Copperfield's  mind,  "  already 
formed." 

The  mistress  spoke  pleasantly: 

"  Rebecca !  We  will  have  to  make  a  change  in 
our  arrangements  for  meals  to-day.  Mr.  Purcell 
has  just  telephoned  that  he  will  bring  two  gen- 
tlemen out  with  him  to  dinner  this  evening.  I 
have  ordered  a  pair  of  chickens  and  some  spinach 
and  celery.  The  tomato  soup  we  were  going  to 
have  for  ourselves  will  do  perfectly  well,  also  the 
rice  croquettes  and  whipped  potato,  and  the  salad. 
I  have  ordered  ice-cream,  fruit  and  salted  nuts. 
We  will  not  undertake  anything  like  a  dinner- 
party. Mr.  Purcell  invited  his  friends  to  a  fam- 
ily dinner." 

Rebecca's  scissors  lay  upon  the  table  beside 
her.  Yet  she  bit  off  her  thread,  and  to  do  it, 
stooped  to  the  towel  she  lifted  to  her  mouth. 
Then  she  spread  the  mended  linen  upon  her  knee 
and  smoothed  the  darn  assiduously. 

"  It's  strange  he  waited  so  long  before  telling 
ye  of  his  inteention !  "  she  said,  dryly,  her  Scotch 
accent  more  pronounced  than  Martha  had  ever 
heard  it  before. 

"  He  knew  nothing  of  it  himself !  "  She  was 
ashamed  at  the  time,  and  angry  later,  that  she 
spoke  in  conciliatory  haste.  "These  gentlemen  are 
158 


John  Brings  Home  Friends  to  Dinner 

from  the  South,  where  people  are  so  hospitable 
that  they  think  nothing  of  off-hand  invitations. 
Mr.  Purcell  has  been  entertained  at  their  houses 
upon  short  notice." 

Rebecca  began  to  fold  the  towel,  laying  the 
hems  together  by  a  circumspect  thread;  the  line 
of  her  lips  was  straight  and  tense. 

"I've  aye  heard  that  that  Southland  folk  had 
stickit  ways  with  them !  " 

Martha  flushed  to  her  temples.  Her  tone  was 
coldly  dignified: 

"  We  will  not  discuss  other  people's  ways  and 
manners.  As  I  said,  Mr.  Purcell  will  bring  two 
gentlemen  to  dinner  to-night.  I  will  see  to 
setting  the  table  after  my  luncheon.  You  need 
not  do  anything  in  the  dining-room  until  dinner 
is  served.  The  things  I  have  ordered  will  be  here 
soon.  If  they  are  not  sent  in  good  season,  let 
me  know,  please." 

"  I  wull !  "  The  reply  had  the  effect  of  being 
bitten  off  as  the  thread  had  been. 

The  flowers  arrived  before  twelve  o'clock,  and 
from  an  upper  window  Martha  had  seen  the 
familiar  oblong  market-basket  with  the  as  fa- 
miliar undersized  boy  under  it,  swagger  in  at  the 
side  gate  an  hour  earlier.  Her  mind  was  there- 
fore at  ease  as  to  the  preliminaries  of  her  dinner, 
as,  having  finished  her  simple  luncheon,  she 

159 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

cleared  the  table  to  spare  her  maid  the  trouble, 
and  began  to  arrange  the  flowers  in  a  cut-glass 
bowl  for  the  centre-piece,  laying  aside  four  choice 
rosebuds  for  boutonnieres.  In  the  midst  of  the 
task  she  heard  the  door-bell  ring  sharply  and 
long.  There  would  be  no  callers  at  this  hour, 
and,  recollecting  that  she  had  not  seen  Rebecca 
in  the  kitchen  when  she  carried  out  the  tray  of 
soiled  luncheon  dishes,  Mrs.  Purcell  answered 
the  peremptory  summons  in  person,  a  rose  and  a 
spray  of  fern  in  her  hand. 

"  Trunk !  "  said  a  shirt-sleeved  man  who  stood 
without,  wasting  no  time  in  salutation  or  other 
preamble. 

An  express- wagon  was  at  the  gate. 

"  You  have  come  to  the  wrong  house,"  said 
Mrs.  Purcell,  almost  as  curtly.  "  There  is  no 
trunk  here  to  be  taken  away! " 

Her  motion  to  shut  him  out  was  foiled  by  a 
thick-soled  boot  thrust  across  the  threshold. 

"  Order  here,  O.  K.,"  taking  a  book  from  un- 
der his  arm  and  whirling  the  leaves.  "  'Phoned 
at  ii  .-30  A.M.,  *  Call  for  trunk  231  Hackmetack, 
corner  Elderberry,  at  two  o'clock — sharp !  Rush 
order!" 

"  Right  ye  are,  young  mon !  Coom  up  here 
for  the  trunk ! "  grated  Rebecca's  voice  from  the 
stair-head. 

160 


John  Brings  Home  Friends  to  Dinner 

He  obeyed,  taking  two  steps  at  each  leap,  whis- 
tling shrilly  as  he  mounted. 

With  the  last  throe  of  expiring  dignity,  Mrs. 
Purcell  went  back  into  the  dining-room  and' 
closed  the  door  after  her.  Her  trembling  hands, 
colder  than  the  water  in  which  she  was  setting 
the  stems,  were  mechanically  busy  with  the  flow- 
ers when  Rebecca  walked  in,  without  the  idle  cere- 
mony of  knocking.  She  was  dressed  for  walk- 
ing, even  to  hat,  jacket  and  gloves. 

"  I  thocht  it  might  be  weel  to  say  '  Good  day ' 
to  ye,"  the  broadening  native  accent  her  only 
sign  of  unusual  emotion.  "  I  wush  ye  weel,  I'm 
sure,  and  I  winna  fash  ye  to  write  a  reecommen- 
dation.  They've  kenned  me  at  the  office  for  sax 
year,  and  more.  I've  been  none  sae  settled  in 
my  mind  for  a  time  back,  and  since  pairt  we 
must,  better  soone  than  syne,  as  the  saying  is." 

Mrs.  Purcell  looked  steadily  into  the  woman's 
eyes: 

"What  does  this  mean?  Certainly  not  that 
you  are  going  away  without  giving  me  any  warn- 
ing, and  without  any  cause  of  complaint  ?  Going, 
too,  when  I  am  expecting  company,  and  when 
y6u  know  I  can  get  no  help  at  such  short  notice ! 
I  cannot  believe  that  a  woman  who  has  any  con- 
science could  act  in  such  a  manner.  No!  don't 
sit  down !  "  she  was  brave  enough  to  add  as 

161 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Rebecca  moved  toward  a  chair.  "  Stand  where 
you  are  and  give  an  explanation  of  your  extraor- 
dinary behavior ! " 

"  Extraordinair — is  it?  " 

Instinctively  she  set  her  big  hands  in  rest  upon 
her  hips,  the  elbows  at  sharp  angles.  The  atti- 
tude in  the  fighter  feminine  is  equivalent  to 
tearing  off  one's  coat  and  rolling  up  one's  sleeves 
in  the  fighter  masculine. 

"  Extraordinair — did  ye  say  ?  And  what  wad 
ye  call  such  condooct  as  having  a  hoosefool  and 
rinning  over  in  company  from  week's  end  to  week's 
end,  and  never  consooltin'  a  puir  working  woman 
and  fair  wearin'  her  awa'  to  skin  and  bone — wha 
hae  naething  but  her  health  and  her  twa  hands 
to  depend  upon  to  win  an  honest  leeving  ?  Maybe 
ye  dinna  mind  how  mony  veesitors — I  dinna 
mean  callers! — but  eaters  of  victual  cooked  by  me 
hands  and  frae  platters  and  china  washt  by  me 
hands — ye've  had  sin  the  New  Year?  Maister 
Purcell  hae  brought  twa  o'  his  friends  to  pass  the 
Sabbath,  and  twa  nichts  and  a  day  each  time,  and 
Maister  and  Maistress  Risley  has  been  twice  to 
dinner,  and  herself  three  times  to  luncheon,  and 
the  Laird  Almichty  knows  how  many  times  to 
tak'  afternoon  tea  wi'  ye,  to  say  nowt  of  ane 
afternoon  reception  when  as  mony  as  fifty  folk 
cam'  strambling  into  the  hoose — and  na  a  word 
162 


John  Brings  Home  Friends  to  Dinner 

ever  spak  to  ME  as  to  me  conveenience,  or  one 
penny  added  to  me  wage! 

"I'm  not  one  to  talk  muckle  of  me  woes  at 
any  time,  but  I've  tak'  notes  of  it  a',  and  made 
up  me  mind  that  the  nex'  time  wad  be  the  end  of 
it  a'.  And  if  it  war  my  last  breath  I'd  mak'  use 
of  it  to  say  that  it  is  not  the  pairt  of  a  gentleman 
to  bring  a  pack  o'  men  home  whenever  he  feels 
the  deesposition  to  do  sae " 

"  There !  not  one  word  more ! "  Mrs.  Purcell 
raised  a  level  arm  and  pointed  a  level  finger  that 
did  not  tremble,  at  the  door.  "  Go !  at  once !  I 
shall  report  your  behavior  and  your  language  at 
the  Intelligence  Office.  Will  you  go — and  with 
no  more  impertinence — or  shall  I  telephone  to 
the  police-station  for  help  to  clear  the  premises 
of  you?" 

She  walked — still  steadily — past  the  offender 
who  sputtered  Scotch  billingsgate  in  her  ear  in 
following  her  to  the  front  door.  Martha  set  it 
wide  open,  holding  the  knob  in  her  right  hand, 
the  left  repeating  the  gesture  of  ejectment — and 
as  soon  as  Rebecca's  skirt  was  clear  of  the  sill, 
closed  it  without  rattle  or  bang,  the  dignity  of  the 
house-mistress  inviolate  to  the  last. 


163 


CHAPTER   XIII 

"THE    IDEAL    WAITRESS" 

I  am  not  of  that  feather  to  shake  off 
My  friend  when  he  must  need  me. 

SHAKESPEARE,  Timon  of  Athens. 

AT  four  o'clock  she  was  giving  the  new  chap- 
ter in  her  varied  experience  with  the  genus  "  Liv- 
ing-Out-Girl "  to  Rosa  Risley.  She  was  not,  as 
we  have  seen,  weak,  or  timid,  or  hysterical,  but 
a  woman  of  exceptional  nerve  in  the  right  accep- 
tation of  the  word,  fertile  in  expedients  and  en- 
dowed with  unusual  executive  talent. 

"  I  have  not  run  to  you  with  a  bruised  finger  in 
my  mouth !  "  she  said  to  her  friend  when  the  first 
part  of  the  tale  was  told — composed  in  nerve  and 
in  appearance,  unless  the  pink  spot  in  each  cheek 
indicated  emotion  and  was  not  caused  by  a  lively 
hour-and-a-half  of  culinary  manoeuvres. 

"How  handsome  you  are!"  interpolated  ir- 
relevant Rosa,  here,  touching  one  of  the  pink 
spots  with  a  tentative  forefinger,  apparently  to 
find  out  if  it  would  rub  off. 

Her  inquiring  glance  at  the  tip  of  her  finger 
164  * 


"  The  Ideal  Waitress" 

after  the  touch,  was  expressive  and  irresistible. 
Martha  laughed  in  spite  of  her  worries. 

"  What  a  foolish  child  you  are !  "  said  she,  but 
not  ill-pleased.  "  I  was  never  less  in  the  humor 
for  listening  to  flattery.  I  have  too  serious  mat- 
ters on  hand.  As  I  was  trying  to  say,  I  hoped 
I  had  done  with  casting  all  my  domestic  burdens 
upon  your  willing  shoulders.  And  I  have  really 
done  all  that  I  can  do  at  present.  The  table  is 
set  to  the  last  fork  and  spoon ;  the  fowls  are  ready 
for  cooking,  the  vegetables,  ditto;  the  rice  cro- 
quettes are  on  the  ice;  the  salad  lacks  nothing 
but  the  mayonnaise,  which  is  also  in  ice.  I  have 
cooked  too  many  dinners  toute  seule  to  be  dis- 
heartened by  the  thought  of  one  more.  But — 
and  a  '  but '  as  high  as  heaven  and  black  as 
night ! — I  cannot  preside  at  my  table  and  be  wait- 
ress as  well.  Courses  must  be  changed,  and  they 
won't  go  out  and  come  in,  automatically.  By  the 
time  the  click  of  Rebecca's  heels  had  died  away 
in  our  street,  I  telephoned  to  the  Woman's  Lunch 
Club  in  Twenty-third  Street  to  see  if  I  could  hire 
a  waitress  for  the  evening.  You  know  I  have 
done  it  twice  before  this  year  and  secured  the 
nicest  kind  of  a  girl.  As  ill-luck  would  have  it, 
not  one  is  disengaged.  Then,  as  a  desperate  hope, 
I  tried  an  Intelligence  Office.  Of  course  none 

could  be  had  on  such  short  notice " 

165 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

"  I'd  send  over  Mary  with  a  heart-and-a-half," 
interrupted  Rosa — "  but  her  face  is  swelled  out 
of  shape  by  an  ulcerated  tooth.  She  had  it  out 
yesterday,  but  the  swelling  has  not  gone  down. 
Her  cheek  flaunts  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow — 
that  is,  as  much  of  it  as  shows  above  the  bandage. 
If  she  could  wear  a  mask,  now !  " 

"  I  could  not  think  of  her  working  while  she 
is  in  such  a  state — poor  girl !  "  returned  Martha, 
sincerely.  In  the  secret  sinking  of  the  modicum 
of  courage  she  had  brought  to  the  interview,  she 
recognized  the  death  of  a  hope  she  had  hardly 
acknowledged  to  herself.  Mary  was  a  thor- 
oughly faithful  girl  and  had  testified  in  many 
ways  to  a  share  in  her  mistress'  liking  for  Mrs. 
Purcell.  It  was  a  blow  that  she  should  be  hors 
du  combat,  at  this  particular  time.  Martha's 
thoughts  returned  with  actual  rancor  to  recalci- 
trant Rebecca: 

"  The  creature  knew  she  was  lying  when  she 
complained  of  the  extra  work  put  upon  her  by 
the  little  company  we  have  had  since  she  came 
to  me !  As  I  said,  I  have  had  a  regular  waitress 
in  twice — once,  when  I  gave  my  afternoon  recep- 
tion— which  was  not  a  large  affair,  as  you  know, 
and  once  over  Sunday,  when  John's  Boston 
friend,  Mr.  Duncan,  was  with  us,  and  I  had  a 
touch  of  the  grippe  that  prevented  me  from 
166 


"The  Ideal  Waitress" 

doing  as  much  housework  as  usual.  I  have 
made  it  a  point  of  conscience  to  take  upon  my- 
self the  brunt  of  any  additional  labor  entailed 
by  visitors.  It  seemed  only  just,  since  they 
were  there  for  my  pleasure  and  not  for  my 
maid's." 

"  She  didn't  think  to  mention  that  you  have 
never  objected  to  her  extra  outings,"  added  Rosa, 
in  fine  sarcasm.  "  Nor  allude  delicately  to  the 
time  when  Mr.  Purcell  bought  circus  tickets  for 
her  and  a  friend  who  '  happened  in '  the  day  the 
big  show  came  to  town,  and  how  you  had  a  light 
supper,  instead  of  dinner,  on  another  evening 
when  you  found  that  she  was  invited  to  a  dance, 
and  washed  the  dishes  and  put  them  away  your- 
self, that  she  might  have  plenty  of  time  to  rest 
and  dress.  Nor  how,  when  she  brought  the 
grippe  into  the  house,  you  insisted  upon  her  keep- 
ing her  bed  for  two  days,  and  nursed  her  your- 
self, besides  doing  her  work  and  your  own  while 
she  was  laid  up  ? — Yes !  and  there's  where  you 
got  the  *  touch '  you  spoke  of  just  now.  You 
didn't  lie  by  for  an  hour,  and  hired  a  waitress 
at  three  dollars  a  day  to  help  Rebecca — the  un- 
grateful wretch!  When  people  are  balancing 
accounts  they  should  keep  an  eye  upon  both 
pages  of  the  ledger,  and  not  set  down  what  they 
owe  to  profit  and  loss ! " 

167 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Having  harangued  herself  out  of  breath,  she 
pulled  up  hard  and  abruptly : 

"  But  all  this  isn't  business !  Do  you  go  home, 
and  keep  a  quiet  mind!  I  think  I  know  where 
to  lay  my  hand  on  a  waitress — one  I've  had  in, 
now  and  then,  to  help  me.  She  isn't  much  to 
look  at,  but  she  can  work  and  understands  her 
business.  I'm  sure  I  can  get  her.  If  you  don't 
hear  from  me  by  six  o'clock  you  may  know  that 
all  is  right.  In  fact,  I'll  let  you  know  by  five  if 
I  can't  get  Norah  O'Halloran." 

"  Rosa !  you  are  my  good  angel — my  provi- 
dence !  But  for  you  my  married  life  would  have 
been  but  a  rank  failure.  I  told  John  so  only 
last  night " 

Rosa's  plump  hand  went  over  the  speaker's 
mouth,  and  one  plump  arm  about  her  neck. 

"  And  John  told  you  as  I  do  now — and  as  I 
have  told  you  a  hundred  times — that  such  talk  is 
downright  rot!  Tommy-rot,  in  fact!  You  don't 
like  full-bodied  slang,  but  nothing  else  goes  so 
straight  to  the  point,  sometimes.  You  had  it  in 
you  to  become  a  tip-top,  A.  No.  I  cook  and  house- 
keeper, and  you  would  have  worked  out  your  own 
salvation  in  time.  I  gave  you  a  lift  in  the  primary 
department.  That  was  all." 

"  And  in  every  other  grade !  Don't  understate 
the  amount  of  my  debt,  dear!  But  this  matter 
1 68 


11  The  Ideal  Waitress" 

of  company,  now!  The  Servant  Question  is  a 
series  of  startling  surprises  to  me.  Ought  I  to 
ask  my  maid's  permission  before  I  venture  to 
invite  a  friend  to  a  meal  in  my  house  ?  " 

"  No,  and  yes !  "  The  wrinkles  in  Rosa's  fore- 
head denoted  profundity  of  thought.  "  Your 
house  is  your  own,  and  when,  as  you  say,  you 
take  all  the  extra  work  of  company  upon  yourself, 
you  have  a  right  to  have  a  friend  in  to  every  meal 
of  every  day  in  the  week  if  you  like.  But  it  can- 
not be  denied  that  three,  instead  of  two  people 
at  table,  increases  a  servant's  work,  and  much 
coming  and  going  throws  a  methodical  girl  out 
of  her  groove,  as  it  were.  She  has  laid  out  her 
work  for  the  day,  and  any  change  in  the  pro- 
gramme is  a  jolt  to  her  ideas  and  temper.  Hav- 
ing little  mind  to  speak  of,  as  a  rule,  and 
a  sharp  eye  to  her  own  interests,  she  resents  the 
jolt. 

"  I  am  hardly  a  fair  judge  of  your  case.  Mary 
and  I  consult  over  everything  pertaining  to  the 
house — from  the  daily  left-overs  in  the  refrigera- 
tor to  Rosie's  newest  tooth.  And  she  likes  for 
me  to  have  company.  But  I  don't  think  your  ex- 
perience is  very  singular.  I  have  heard  of  big 
houses  where  '  a  staff '  is  kept,  in  which  such 
catastrophes  occur,  now  and  then.  One  woman 
I  know  was  deserted  by  a  cook,  butler  and  two 

169 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

maids  within  an  hour  of  her  daughter's  wed- 
ding." 

"  And  there  is  no  redress  ? "  cried  Martha, 
aghast. 

"  None,  my  dear !  She  could  withhold  the 
rest  of  their  month's  wages — but  I  have  noticed 
that  these  upheavals  are  usually  timed  soon  after 
the  injured  creature's  month  is  up  and  her  wages 
have  been  paid.  Must  you  go  ?  "  Martha  was 
on  her  feet.  "  The  kettle  is  boiling  and  a  cup  of 
tea  will  put  heart  into  both  of  us.  Not  that  you 
ever  need  it,  and  the  more  I  think  of  it  the  surer 
am  I  that  Norah  O'Halloran  will  serve  your 
turn." 

Martha's  eyes  sparkled  with  affectionate  grati- 
tude over  the  steaming  cup  filled  and  put  into  her 
hand  before  she  could  finish  her  refusal. 

"  And  you  will  come  over  early  ?  You  were 
to  test  the  liver  en  casserole,  you  know." 

Rosa  pursed  her  lips  doubtfully: 

"  Maybe !  No,  dear,  I  think  I  would  better 
let  the  invitation  lie  over  until  another  time. 
Now,  don't  worry!  I  know  the  chickens  will  be 
done  to  a  turn,  and  your  spinach  a  la  creme  is  a 
dream,  always ! " 

Five  o'clock  passed  without  a  word  from  the 
faithful  friend  in  need.  Martha  had  wrought  in 
good  heart  all  the  afternoon.  Now  that  the 
170 


"The  Ideal  Waitress" 

tough  problem  of  the  waitress  was  transferred 
from  her  mind  to  Rosa's,  she  found  profound  sat- 
isfaction— as  many  another  maid-beridden  house- 
wife has  before  and  since — real,  joyful,  reliefful 
comfort — in  having  once  more  unlimited  range 
in  her  own  house.  Rebecca,  she  perceived,  had 
been  a  repressive  influence,  not  acknowledged 
by  her  nominal  mistress  while  it  pervaded  the 
well-ordered  premises,  yet  felt  in  every  depart- 
ment of  work.  In  the  kitchen  Martha  moved 
with  freedom  that  was  gayety,  handled  pots  and 
saucepans  and  covered  roaster  almost  lovingly. 

She  actually  sang  in  stepping  lightly  to  and 
fro  from  range  to  table;  sunshine,  cross-barred 
by  the  budding  sprays  of  the  honeysuckle  veiling 
the  western  windows  of  the  kitchen,  danced  upon 
the  blue-and-gray  arabesques  of  the  floor,  twin- 
kled upon  the  silver  of  tureen  and  vegetable 
dishes,  and  gleamed  mildly  over  orderly  heaps  of 
china,  set  in  array  upon  the  tables. 

Six  o'clock  tinkled  from  the  officious  time- 
chronicler  on  the  shelf  between  the  windows. 
Norah  O'Halloran  would  be  here  soon. 

"  I  have  great  faith  in  Jolly ! "  said  the 
busy  worker  aloud,  and  laughed  low  and  hap- 
pily in  recalling  one  of  Rosa's  many  illustrative 
stories. 

A  traveller  in  the  West,  early  in  the  century, 
171 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

came  to  a  mud-hole  so  deep  he  had  to  swim  across. 
Mid-way  he  espied  a  hat,  apparently  afloat,  and 
picked  it  up. 

"  I  will  trouble  you  to  put  my  hat  back !  "  said 
a  head  revealed  by  the  action. 

"  Swimming,  too  ?  "  queried  the  fellow  pas- 
senger. 

"  No,  but  my  horse  Jolly  is.  I'm  on  his  back. 
Jolly  and  I  have  been  through  worse  places  than 
this.  He'll  bring  me  out  all  right.  I  have  great 
faith  in  Jolly!" 

The  side-door  of  the  kitchen  was  open,  the 
afternoon  being  sunny,  and  as  the  words  escaped 
Mrs.  Purcell's  lips,  a  shadow  fell  into  the  room; 
a  timid  knock  prefaced  a  respectful  little  cough. 
A  trig  figure  stepped  across  the  threshold  when 
Martha  turned.  It  wore  the  conventional  black 
gown,  white  apron,  bretelled  over  the  shoulders, 
and  fastened  by  a  big  bow  and  flowing  ends  at 
the  back  of  a  round  waist;  a  jaunty  cap  with  a 
peaked,  starched  crown,  was  set  above  demure 
bands  of  red  hair  framing  a  rosy  face.  In  ad- 
vancing she  dropped  a  curtsy  in  the  Old  World 
fashion. 

"  Come  in !  "  said  Martha,  in  cordial  approval 
•  of  the  apparition.  "  Mrs.  Risley  sent  you,  I 
suppose?  " 

"  Yes,  mem !  "  Two  plump  hands  smoothed 
172 


"The  Ideal  Waitress" 

down  the  front  of  the  white  apron.     "  Norah 
O'Halloran,  at  yer  service,  mem !  " 

Accent  was  in  perfect  keeping  with  manner 
and  name — yet  Martha  let  fall  her  dish-cloth, 
and  stood  rooted  to  the  floor,  staring  at  the 
speaker,  the  half-formed  words  of  welcome  dying 
upon  her  tongue.  A  broad  smile  broke  over 
Norah  O'Halloran's  face;  the  roguish  flash  of 
her  eyes  betrayed  her  further. 

"  Rosa  —  Dunn  —  Risley !  "  ejaculated  her 
friend,  half  dismayed  and  wholly  astonished. 
"  You  don't  imagine  for  one  minute  that  I  would 
let  you " 

Rosa's  arms  were  about  her  neck,  and  a  kiss 
stopped  her  mouth. 

"  I  imagine  nothing !  I  know  that  I  am  going 
to  wait  on  your  table  this  blessed  night,  and 
enjoy  the  frolic!  You  will,  too,  when  you  enter 
into  the  spirit  of  the  masquerade.  Nobody  knows 
a  thing  about  it  but  our  two  selves.  I  put  Baby  to 
bed  and  dressed  and  ran  off  without  showing  my- 
self to  Mary.  She  knew  I  was  to  dine  with  you, 
and  won't  expect  me  home  until  ten  o'clock  and 
after.  And  your  John  won't  know  me  from  any 
other  Biddy.  I'll  guarantee  that.  The  best  of 
men  are  such  moles!  I  was  Norah  O'Halloran 
in  private  theatricals  a  couple  of  years  ago. 
That's  how  I  came  by  the  wig.  '  Wot  larks ! ' 

173 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

"  But  do  you  really  think  " — faltered  Martha, 
her  wits  still  afield. 

"  I  don't  '  think '  at  all !  I  just  know  that  I 
mean  to  have  my  own  way  in  this  matter ! "  in 
bewitching  imperiousness.  "  Now,  tell  me  in 
two  minutes  about  courses  and  china,  and  then 
run  away  and  dress.  You  have  no  time  to  waste 
in  useless  talk.  '  Have  faith  in  Jolly ! '  I  over- 
heard you  say  that  while  I  was  standing  on  the 
steps  trying  to  arrange  Norah  O'Halloran's  fea- 
tures before  I  ventured  in.  You  wouldn't  have 
known  me  if  I  hadn't  laughed.  I  sha'n't  laugh 
while  I'm  waiting  on  the  table!" 

John's  dress-suit  lay  upon  his  bed,  ready  for 
him  to  put  on  when  he  had  showed  his  guests  to 
a  room  where  they  could  lay  aside  overcoats 
and  brush  off  dust.  Martha  had  met  them  in  the 
lower  hall  and  gratified  the  proud  husband  by 
appearance  and  demeanor.  She  wore  a  cream- 
white  gown  which  he  especially  liked;  her  hair 
was  becomingly  arranged;  her  complexion  was 
girlishly  fresh ;  her  eyes  shone  with  soft  gladness 
in  welcoming  John's  friends. 

"  Model  wife  and  model  homemaker !  "  he  said, 
between  kisses,  as  she  met  him  in  their  room.  "  I 
could  see  that  the  fellows  were  immensely  struck 
at  sight  of  you — and  no  wonder!  Not  one 
woman  in  fifty  thousand  would  give  such  a  recep- 
174 


" The  Ideal  Waitress1' 

tion  to  her  husband's  acquaintances  if  he  brought 
them  home  with  him  on  such  short  notice.  But 
you  aren't  like  other  women !  " 

Laughing  and  blushing,  Martha  slipped  in  her 
word: 

"  Jack,  dear !  I  thought  it  best  to  get  in  a  wait- 
ress for  the  evening,  supposing  you  wished  to 
have  everything  in  the  best  style  for  Virginia 
men." 

"  Right — my  darling — as  you  always  are !  " 
too  busy  with  cravat  and  collar  to  note  her  slight 
flurry  of  speech  and  heightened  color.  "  Run 
along,  now,  and  entertain  the  fellows  when  they 
come  down.  I'll  be  along  in  a  jiffy." 

The  family  dinner,  prefaced  by  grape-fruit, 
halved  and  capped  by  maraschino  cherries,  went 
smoothly  as  to  cookery  and  service,  cheerily  as 
to  talk.  Every  dish  was  admirable  of  its  kind, 
and  the  whole  affair  quietly  elegant  without  pre- 
tension. 

As  Rosa  had  anticipated,  the  host  did  not  once 
look  her  in  the  face,  accepting  her  and  her  serv- 
ices as  naturally  as  he  partook  of  the  food  she 
passed.  Seeing  this,  Martha's  cheeks  cooled  and 
her  heart  resumed  its  normal  action.  She  took 
her  part  in  the  lively  conversation  readily  and 
easily,  prudently  avoiding  meeting  the  masquer- 
ader's  eyes  and  never  giving  an  order.  There 

175 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

was  no  need  that  she  should.  Watchful,  deft 
and  noiseless,  the  maid  played  her  part  to  per- 
fection, changing  courses,  passing  back  and  forth 
from  dining-room  to  kitchen  like  a  shadow,  ever 
alert  to  supply  a  possible  want,  swift  without  bus- 
tle, serious  and  intent.* 

"  An  ideal  waitress !  "  sighed  Martha,  men- 
tally. "  Why  cannot  we  hire  such  ?  " 

The  thought  was  startled  out  of  her  mind  by 
a  question  put  to  John  by  one  of  the  South- 
erners : 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Purcell,  do  you  chance  to 
know  Tom  Risley?  He  is  in  our  line  of  business, 
and  lives  in  Budfield — unless  I  am  mistaken." 

Martha's  hand  fell  so  suddenly  to  the  table  that 
her  rings  brought  out  a  sharp  protestant  tinkle 
from  her  tumbler. 

"  Mr.  Crenshaw ! "  she  broke  in,  abruptly. 
"Do  you  feel  the  draught  from  that  window? 
The  evenings  are  cool  at  this  season  after  the 
sun  goes  down,  yet  the  gas  heats  the  rooms  so 
soon  that  we  find  them  oppressively  warm  if  we 
exclude  the  air  entirely." 

Mr.  Crenshaw  had  not  suspected  a  draught, 
and  liked  plenty  of  fresh  air.  He  thanked  the 
hostess  for  her  kind  solicitude  for  his  comfort, — 
and 

*  Fact. 

176 


"The  Ideal  Waitress" 

"  As  I  was  saying,  Risley  and  I  met  in  Mem- 
phis last  year  and  travelled  East  together.  He  is 
a  jolly  fellow — a  capital  travelling  companion.  I 
should  like  to  meet  him  again." 

"  We  know  him  well !  "  said  John,  heartily. 
"  In  fact,  he  is  a  near  neighbor  and  a  valued 
friend.  His  wife  and  mine  were  girls  together, 
and  are  great  cronies  now." 

"  It  goes  without  saying,  then,  that  Mrs.  Ris- 
ley is  a  charming  woman,"  rejoined  the  gallant 
Virginian,  bowing  smilingly  to  the  head  of  the 
table,  and  marvelling  somewhat  that  a  compli- 
ment so  obviously  expedient  should  call  up  an 
impetuous  wave  of  color  to  the  recipient's  fore- 
head. 

John  cast  a  look  of  affectionate  pride  at  her. 
The  brilliant  blush  made  her  beautiful  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Thank  you !  You  have  guessed  the  truth. 
My  friend  Risley  has  drawn  a  prize  in  the  matri- 
monial lottery.  She  is  the  best  of  neighbors 
and  friends,  a  bright,  original,  sunny-tempered 
and  sunny-faced  little  woman — worth  her  weight 
in  gold.  My  dear!  it  is  a  pity  we  did  not  know 
that  Mr.  Crenshaw  was  acquainted  with  our  good 
neighbors.  We  would  have  asked  them  to  dinner 
this  evening." 

"  Mr.  Risley  is  not  at  home ! "  said  Martha, 
177 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

hastily,  almost  choking  between  laughter  and  con- 
fusion. "  Mr.  Blanton  " — addressing  the  second 
guest — "  we  were  speaking  just  now  of  the  heat 
of  gas.  Somebody  was  talking  to  Mr.  Purcell, 
the  other  day,  of  the  superiority  of  acetylene  to 
the  common  illuminating  gas  in  this  respect.  It 
gives  out  very  little  heat,  and  a  pure,  white  light 
said  to  be  superior  to  electricity  because  more 
steady.  Our  electric  light  is,  you  know,  a  series 
of  flashes,  hence  very  trying  to  the  eyes." 

"  The  '  Somebody  '  was  the  very  man  we  were 
discussing,  my  love,"  said  easy-tempered  John, 
indulgent  of  her  unwonted  flightiness.  "  Tom 
Risley  has  acetylene  on  the  brain,  and  all  sta- 
tistics pertaining  to  it  at  his  fingers'  end— his 
tongue's  end,  I  should  say " 

A  second  accident  to  Martha's  luckless  glass 
of  iced  water!  This  time  it  went  over  entirely, 
but,  being  less  than  half-full,  it  was  a  thin  stream 
that  meandered  weakly  over  her  best  damask 
cloth,  to  be  intercepted  by  a  napkin  quickly  ap- 
plied by  the  accomplished  waitress. 

A  new  agony  stabbed  Martha.  John  would 
surely  notice,  and  almost  as  surely  recognize  the 
face  flushed  as  darkly  as  her  own,  bent  low  to  the 
table  between  Mrs.  Purcell  and  Mr.  Crenshaw. 
She  rushed  to  the  rescue: 

"  '  Great  streams  from  little  fountains  flow ! ' : 
178 


"The  Ideal  Waitress" 

she  quoted,  laughing  unsteadily.  "  John!  do  you 
recollect  that  our  best  man  upset  a  coffee-cup  at 
our  wedding-breakfast?  It  professed  to  hold  a 
gill.  The  poor  man  declared  afterward  that  a 
gallon  flowed  out  of  it.  It  was  excruciatingly 
funny!" 

To  prove  how  excruciatingly  in  memory,  she 
laughed  hysterically. 

"Well  done!  but  that  will  do!"  said  a  low 
voice  in  her  ear  as  the  maid  leaned  past  her  to 
refill  her  glass. 

The  familiar  intonations,  telling  her  that  the 
masquerader's  senses  held  their  own,  sobered 
Martha  on  the  instant.  No  harm  was  done  as 
yet  if  Tom  Risley  could  be  kept  off  the  table.  She 
had  thought  acetylene  so  safe !  and  it  led  straight 
back  to  him.  John  liked  their  neighbor,  and 
admired  and  quite  loved  Rosa  with  grateful  af- 
fection, but  he  was  also  fond  of  a  joke  and  never 
hesitated  to  rally  Tom  on  his  fads  and  fancies, 
affecting  to  consider  him  a  visionary.  Rosa 
would  never  forgive  ridicule  of  her  husband  from 
another,  and  behind  his  back.  The  next  sentence 
might  rupture  friendly  relations  between  the 
families. 

In  desperation  she  began  to  ask  questions  about 
Richmond,  Virginia,  East  and  West,  the  South, 
Old  and  New,  race-prejudices,  Booker  Wash- 

179 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

ington — huddling  query  upon  comment  as  fast 
as  she  could  articulate  until,  smitten  to  the  con- 
science by  John's  look  of  surprised  incredulity, 
she  brought  up  all  standing,  and  silently  anathe- 
matized recreant  Rebecca  in  bitterness  of  spirit. 

She  had,  however,  succeeded  in  setting  the 
ball  in  motion  and  at  an  angle  that  diverged  so 
widely  from  Budfield  that  the  Risleys  were  not 
again  alluded  to  before  she  arose  to  leave  the 
men  to  their  cigars. 

Bowing  gracefully,  as  they  arose  to  let  her 
pass,  she  walked  dignifiedly  to  the  door,  closed  it 
after  her  and  rushed  along  the  passage  to  the 
kitchen. 

Rosa  had  begun  to  wash  the  dishes  at  the  sink, 
and  heard  nothing  but  the  running  water  until 
her  usually  calm-mannered  friend  caught  her 
about  the  waist  and  dropped  her  head  upon  her 
shoulder  with  a  wailing  laugh : 

"  Rosa !    Rosa !  how  did  I  live  through  it !  " 

"  Bless  your  soul !  /  didn't  mind !  Why 
should  you  ?  " 

The  sensible  little  body  wiped  the  suds  from 
her  bared  arms,  waving  off  Martha  with  expres- 
sive gesticulation. 

"  Your  lovely  gown,  my  child !  you  will  get  it 
spattered !  Now,  that  I  am  dry — what's  the  mat- 
ter? Sit  down  in  that  rocking-chair,  you  poor 
1 80 


11  The  Ideal  Waitress'1 

dear !  and  let  us  talk  over  the  '  pairty.'  Hans 
Breitmann's  couldn't  compare  with  it.  I  thought 
it  went  off  be-^wtifully !  As  to  the  talk  about  the 
Risleys — if  I  hadn't  seen  that  you,  persecuted 
darling,  were  upon  tacks  and  tenterhooks  all  the 
time,  it  would  have  been  the  best  part  of  the  show 
to  me.  I  never  had  a  chance  before  to  know  how 
people  discuss  me  when  I  am  supposed  to  be  out 
of  hearing.  It  was  a  terrible  temptation  to  drop 
my  best  Irish  curtsy  to  Mr.  Purcell  when  he 
said  I  was  worth  my  weight  in  gold.  I  tip  the 
scale  at  one-forty!  As  to  Tom's  fads,  I  could 
discourse  eloquently  upon  the  boredom  I  go 
through  about  acetylene,  and  airships,  and  other 
so-called  light  matters.  Mr.  Purcell  will  never 
know  anything  of  the  little  comedy.  So  no  harm 
is  done. 

"  Whew !  my  face  must  look  like  a  ripe  tomato ! 
This  construction  heats  my  brain  to  the  core! 
Picturesque,  but  pesky!  As  I  haven't  to  go 
before  the  curtain,  or  on  the  stage  again,  I'll 
take  it  off,  by  yer  lave,  mem !  " 

Suiting  action  to  word,  she  pulled  out  pins  and 
undid  strings,  and  tossed  Normandy  cap  and  red 
wig  upon  a  distant  table.  Her  own  dark  curls 
were  damp  and  matted  with  perspiration.  She 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen,  running  both 
hands  through  her  hair  to  cool  the  scalp,  arms 

181 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

bare  to  the  elbows,  sleeves  pinned  to  the  shoul- 
der, when  a  quick  step  rang  upon  the  hall  floor 
and  John  Purcell  appeared  in  the  doorway: 

"  Patty,  dear!  where  shall  I  find " 

The  sentence  was  never  finished. 


182 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE   COMMUTER 

Old  Noah,  in  primeval  times, 

With  ark-bred  thirst  corroded, 
Commuted  first  to  drier  climes, 

And  then  straightway  got  "loaded." 
That  same  load  Noah  sought  to  trundle 
Was  the  first  known  commuter's  bundle. 

Since  when,  commuters  daily  bring 

Parcels  for  farm  and  kitchen — 
Hoes,  beds,  lawn-mowers— everything 

Commuter-folk  are  rich  in. 
Ah!  how  the  neighbors  all  look  down 
On  him  who  bears  back  naught  from  town! 

A.  P.  TERHUNE,  Commuter  Ballads. 

A  RAUCOUS  voice  read  the  doggerel  aloud  with 
a  sing-song  drawl  in  John  Purcell's  ear,  the 
reader  occupying  the  seat  behind  our  hero. 

John  winced,  and  his  hand  moved  involuntarily 
in  the  direction  of  a  pyramidal  pile  of  parcels 
upon  the  seat  beside  him. 

Dick  Dodd,  the  man  with  the  raucous  voice, 
chanced  to  be  especially  obnoxious  to  him  at  all 
times  and  in  every  place.  He  was  a  chronic 
grumbler.  John  spoke  of  him  usually  to  his  wife 
as  a  "  sore  head,"  and  avoided  his  proximity 

183 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

when  he  could,  especially  on  the  homeward  even- 
ing trip  from  town. 

To  stand  for  twenty  minutes  in  a  trolley  car, 
holding  with  one  hand  to  a  roof-strap,  the  other 
clutching  the  invariable  bundle ;  interlocked  from 
the  knees  downward  with  other  lower  limbs  and, 
as  often  as  not,  packed  to  the  shoulders  as  in  a 
kit  of  dried  herrings,  along  with  other  helpless 
specimens  of  "  human  warious  " ; — to  race  down 
a  gang-plank  if  the  tide  be  out,  and  up,  if  it  be 
in,  just  in  time  to  board  a  ferry-boat;  while  there, 
to  choose  between  standing-room  in  a  stifling 
cabin,  reeking  with  the  exhaled  breaths  of  the 
thousands  who  have  occupied  it,  successively,  all 
day  long,  and  taking  one's  chance  of  pneumonia 
outside,  where  river-fogs  dispute  preference  with 
the  penetrating  effluvia  wafted  from  the  alleys 
allotted  to  teams  and  trucks; — when  the  oppo- 
site pier  is  gained,  to  charge  up  or  down  another 
gang-plank  as  madly  as  before,  in  the  breathless 
run  for  the  train  where  one  never  gets  the  seat 
he  would  like,  or  the  society  he  would  prefer, 
and  the  cars  are  hot  and  dusty  in  summer,  heated 
to  excess  and  stuffy  to  suffocation  in  winter; — 
when,  having  been  shot  off  like  a  bomb  at  one's 
proper  station-platform,  one  has  a  ten-minute 
tramp  through  torrid,  or  humid,  or  freezing  dark- 
ness before  the  "  light  in  the  window  for  him  " 
184 


The  Commuter 

greets  his  eyes; — John  Purcell  had  not  wintered 
and  summered  for  fifteen  months  in  Budfield, 
N.  J.,  without  knowing  these  and  numberless 
other  drawbacks  to  the  comfort  of  a  suburban 
residence. 

He  was  often  hungry  to  faintness  when  he  got 
home.  Sometimes  he  was  "  clean  played  out." 
Sometimes  he  was  cross.  This  evening  he  was 
all  three.  Business  had  gone  crooked  in  a  series 
of  jolts  and  hitches  and  balks  that  taxed  all  his 
powers  of  endurance.  He  had  eaten  a  sawdusty 
sandwich  and  gulped  down  a  cup  of  villainous 
Rio  coffee  at  noon,  without  leaving  his  desk. 
Martha  had  charged  him  not  to  forget  to  bring 
out  a  pound  of  English  walnuts,  and  half-a-dozen 
oranges  that  night.  She  could  not  get  either 
from  her  grocer — that  is,  none  of  decent  quality, 
and  those  she  could  get  were  sold  at  iniquitous 
prices.  After  the  manner  of  the  notable  feminine 
suburbanite,  she  had  also  planned  to  economize 
money  and  time  by  having  a  box  of  "  chiffons  " 
— light  in  weight  but  bulky  in  dimension,  sent 
from  Le  Boutillier  Brothers  to  Mr.  Purcell's 
office.  John  would  save  a  day  for  her  by  bring- 
ing it  out. 

"  I  would  not  have  done  it,  Jack,  dear,"  she 
had  added,  as  he  made  no  immediate  reply — "  if 
I  were  not  waiting  for  the  things.  All  first-class 

185 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

houses  send  free  of  express  charges.  But  I  am 
really  in  need  of  ruchings,  collars  and  ribbons." 

She  was  a  prudent  wife  who  studied  his  inter- 
ests in  every  particular,  and  this  he  knew  as  well 
after  he  saw  the  box  from  Le  Boutillier's  as  when 
he  had  flavored  the  assertion  with  his  morning 
"  good-bye "  kiss.  How  could  he  foresee  that 
the  ridiculously  light  box  would  measure  twenty 
inches  in  one  direction,  and  twelve  in  another, 
and  be  six  inches  deep  ?  Or  that  a  pair  of  shoes 
he  had  bought  yesterday — ordering  them  to  be 
sent  to  the  office,  of  course — would  be  packed  in 
a  box  absurdly  out  of  proportion  to  his  very  neat 
foot?  By  rare  good  fortune  he  secured  a  whole 
seat  for  himself  and  arranged  his  parcels  upon 
the  vacant  place  beside  him. 

"  Your  neighbors  can't  look  down  upon  you! " 
went  on  the  man  with  the  sore  head.  "  Or  upon 
any  of  us  poor  devils  of  commuters,  for  that 
matter.  One  and  all,  we  are  beasts  of  burden. 
Our  minister  read  something  in  church  last  Sun- 
day about  one  of  Jacob's  dozen  sons — I  forget 
his  name — who  was  a  *  strong  ass,  crouching 
down  between  two  burdens.'  I  gave  my  wife 
a  dig  in  the  ribs  and  whispered — '  That's  the 
commuter,  every  time ! '  I've  commuted  now  for 
fifteen  years,  and  there's  nothing  smaller  than  a 
piano  or  a  flour-barrel  that  I  haven't  lugged  out 
186 


The  Commuter 

on  this  infernal  old  train  at  one  time  or  another. 
You've  got  into  the  stride  devilish  quick.  I've 
seen  it  growing  upon  you." 

"  If  I  don't  complain  I  don't  see  that  it  is  any- 
body else's  business ! "  retorted  John,  nettled  un- 
conscionably by  the  laugh  that  made  the  words 
yet  more  offensive. 

"  My  dear  fellow !  we  are  all  companions  in 
misery — victims  of  the  commuter-craze.  We 
would  live  in  the  country,  yet  make  our  living  in 
town,  and  we  must  take  the  consequences.  Have 
you  read  the  '  Commuter  Ballads '  now  coming 
out  in  The  Evening  Planet  f  " 

"  I  don't  care  for  trashy  rhymes,"  said  John 
shortly. 

"  No  ?  But  this  fellow  has  been  there — sure ! 
He  knows  every  pinch  of  the  shoe.  I  cut  out  one 
last  week  and  carry  it  with  me  to  show  to  fellow- 
sufferers.  By  George !  you  should  have  seen  Ned 
Bliss  squirm  when  he  read  it!  To  my  certain 
knowledge  he  has  done  escort  duty  and  paid  the 
fare  for  six  cooks  a  month  on  an  average  for  the 
past  three  years." 

He  had  fished  a  bit  of  soiled  and  creased  news- 
paper from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  poked  it 
over  John's  shoulder,  under  his  very  eyes. 

"  Thank  you !  I  never  read  on  the  train  after 
sundown." 

187 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

John  looked  straight  ahead  and  spoke  mo- 
rosely, with  difficulty  resisting  the  disposition  to 
strike  down  the  thick  thumb  and  finger  within 
four  inches  of  his  nose,  noting,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, that  the  nails  were  bitten  short,  and  yet 
edged  with  black. 

"No?"  again.     "Then,  listen! 

Should  you  question  a  commuter  as  to  the  one  dark 

spot — 
The  fly  within  the  ointment — the  flaw  in  his  bright  lot — 

(That's  ironical,  you  know,"  interpolated  the  tor- 
mentor. "  We  know  there  are  more  flies  than 
ointment  in  our  pot — and  it's  all  flaw!  ") 

He  won't  say  "  Loneliness,"  nor  "Mud,"  nor  "Trains," 
when  brought  to  book; 

Instead  he'll  murmur:  "Oh,  just  this — we  cannot 
keep  a  cook! 

We  bring  one  from  the  city  on  the  seven  forty-five, 

And  envious  neighbors  glare  in  wrath,  beholding  her 
arrive. 

But  soon  those  self -same  neighbors'  eyes  are  lit  with 
triumph  mean 

As  they  behold  her  leaving  on  the  town-bound  eight- 
fifteen. 

"  That's  truth — every  word  of  it " 

"  It's  certainly  not  poetry!  "  snapped  the  baited 
auditor.    "  You  needn't  go  on !  " 
1 88 


The  Commuter 

He  was  evidently  in  such  surly  earnest  that 
the  man  with  the  sore  head  and  raucous  voice 
subsided  into  his  corner  with  what  might  be  inter- 
preted as  a  growl,  or  as  a  giggle,  and  let  him 
alone. 

Ten  minutes  thereafter  the  conductor's  two- 
syllabled  howl,  translated  by  the  initiated  into 
"  Budfield,"  brought  fifty  weary  men  to  their 
feet.  There  was  a  general  shuffle  and  clutching 
and  adjustment  of  bundles  upon  convenient  por- 
tions of  the  carriers'  corporeal  frames,  and  a  rush 
for  the  outer  darkness  made  visible  by  two  jaded 
lamps  over  the  station-door. 

As  John  Purcell  gained  the  platform  somebody 
(in  a  subsequent  and  more  charitable  mood  he 
tried  to  believe  that  it  was  not  Dick  Dodd!) 
jostled  him  so  roughly  that  the  paper  bag  of 
oranges  flew  in  one  direction,  the  bundle  of  Eng- 
lish walnuts  in  another.  The  wrappings  of  both 
broke  and  the  blended  rattle  and  thud  of  the 
contents  drew  the  attention  of  the  dispersing 
crowd.  It  was  not  in  the  human  nature  of  even 
a  tired  commuter  to  restrain  a  laugh,  but  two  or 
three — to  the  honor  of  this,  our  common  nature, 
be  it  written — stopped  to  help  pick  up  pattering 
nuts  and  rolling  fruit. 

Foremost  among  these  was  Tom  Risley.  In 
the  worthier  mood  to  which  I  have  alluded,  John 

189 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

had  the  grace  to  be  ashamed  that  his  first  thought, 
as  Tom  came  up  to  him  with  both  hands  full,  was 
of  the  story  he  would  take  home,  and  how  he  and 
Rosa  would  laugh  over  it. 

"  Here  are  your  victuals  and  drink,  old  man!  " 
said  Tom,  blithely.  "  It's  lucky  the  drink  is  in 
the  raw  material.  I  dropped  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne right  on  the  track  once.  It  went  off  like 
a  pistol.  Some  of  the  lady-passengers  screamed 
that  the  boiler  had  burst.  There  was  pop  and 
fizz  at  home  I  can  tell  you  when  my  wife  heard 
of  it!" 

"  Thank  you !  I'm  obliged  to  you !  You  are 
very  kind !  "  John  was  saying,  in  order,  to  the 
collectors  of  the  scattered  groceries.  "  I  am 
ashamed  of  my  awkwardness !  " 

"  It  is  the  fate  of  commuter  warfare !  "  an- 
swered one, — and  another,  as  he  walked  away, 
began  to  sing  to  an  air  from  "  The  Pirates  of 
Penzance  " : 

A  commuter's  life  is  not  a  happy  one  ! 

"  I  begin  to  believe  that!  "  grumbled  John,  as, 
with  one  pocket  of  his  overcoat  bulging  with 
oranges  and  the  nuts  rattling  in  another,  he  took 
up  his  boxes  and  walked  up  Hackmetack  Ave- 
nue. "  A  fellow  loses  self-respect  under  this  sort 
of  drudgery.  I,  for  one,  am  dead  sick  of  it.  To 
190 


The  Commuter 

say  nothing  of  being  boxed  up  in  a  filthy  car  and 
filthier  boat  for  two  hours  every  day, — with  Tom, 
Dick,  and  Harry!" 

"  Especially  Dick !  "  laughed  Tom.  John  had 
once  likened  him  and  his  wife  to  bottled  sunshine. 
"  He  is  depressing  taken  upon  an  empty  stomach, 
after  a  hard  day's  work !  But  there  are  compen- 
sations in  the  commuter's  life.  To  begin  with, 
the  majority  of  us  cannot  afford  to  live  in  town 
unless  we  go  out  above  Harlem,  and  then  we  gain 
precious  little  in  time  and  comfortable  transpor- 
tation. Look  at  the  '  L '  in  rush  hours,  morning 
and  evening.  And  if  suburbanizing  is  a  little 
rough  for  three  months  of  the  year,  we  make  up 
for  it  in  nine  months  of  pure  air,  roomy  houses, 
fresh  vegetables,  and  all  the  rest  of  it — don't  you 
know?" 

"  Six  of  one,  and  half-a-dozen  of  the  other," 
was  the  utmost  concession  John  would  make. 

To  add  to  his  discomfort,  the  low  clouds  which 
had  been  gathering  their  forces  since  noon,  began 
to  spit  fine  hail  before  they  got  to  the  corner  where 
their  ways  parted. 

"  A  snow-storm  coming ! "  he  prophesied, 
gloomily.  "  Another  block  of  trains  to-morrow 
— and  there'll  be  the  mischief  to  pay  at  the  office. 
That's  one  scored  for  the  '  L.'  Drifts  don't  in- 
terfere with  it.  Good-night !  " 

191 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Tom  went  off,  whistling  a  quickstep,  his  feet 
tapping  time  to  it  in  nearing  his  house. 

John  said  something  between  his  teeth  when 
he  set  both  boxes  down  on  the  veranda  floor  to 
leave  a  hand  free  for  his  latch  key. 

The  door  was  opened  from  within  before 
he  could  turn  the  key,  and  so  abruptly  as  to 
jerk  it  out  of  the  lock,  and  toss  it  upon  the 
floor. 

"  Confound  the  key ! "  ejaculated  the  irate 
householder,  scraping  mat  and  boards  with  seek- 
ing fingers.  "  I  wish  you  would  be  more 
careful!" 

The  "  you "  was,  naturally,  his  wife,  whose 
ears  had  been  strained  for  the  click  in  the  lock 
for  fifteen  minutes  past.  She  had  begun  to  con- 
jure up  harrowing  reasons  for  the  delay  and,  like 
some  of  the  rest  of  us,  was  ready  in  the  reaction 
from  needless  anxiety  to  find  fault  with  the  cause 
of  her  needless  folly. 

"  Why,  John,  how  could  7  help  your  dropping 
your  key  ?  If  you  will  come  in  and  get  ready  for 
dinner  I  will  bring  a  candle  out  here  and  find  it 
for  you.  O !  you  did  bring  my  box,  didn't  you  ?  " 
the  hall-light  showing  the  outline  of  the  oblong 
burden  on  the  floor. 

The  utter  change  of  tone  from  discontent  to 
gladness  irked  the  modern  Issachar  unaccount- 
192 


The  Commuter 

ably.  Still  groping  vainly,  he  shoved  the  box  in 
her  direction  with  a  contemptuous  foot. 

"  There !  take  your  duds !  An  infernal  nui- 
sance they  have  been,  too!  I'll  come  in  when  I 

find  that  d d  key,  and  not  one  second  sooner, 

if  it  takes  an  hour." 

Martha's  behavior  was  that  of  any  just-minded 
wife.  She  lifted  the  box  tenderly,  and  carried 
it  up  to  her  room,  holding  her  head  high  and 
biting  her  under-lip  hard.  Without  undoing  the 
enveloping  paper,  she  thrust  the  insulted  parcel 
into  a  closet  and  tripped  down  the  back  stairs  as 
John,  having  found  the  key  by  treading  upon  it 
in  the  dark,  ascended  the  front. 

She  was  in  her  chair  at  the  table  when  he  en- 
tered the  dining-room,  and  when  he  stooped  to 
kiss  her — rather  perfunctorily,  it  must  be  said, 
his  ill-humor  having  but  partially  evaporated — 
she  glanced  at  the  clock  on  the  opposite  wall.  Not 
pointedly,  still  less  with  malicious  meaning,  but 
as  if  she  could  not  help  it. 

John  answered  as  if  she  had  spoken,  and  had 
said  much. 

"  Yes !  I  know  it  is  late  according  to  your 
notion — and  your  cook's !  The  train  was  twenty 
minutes  behind  time.  A  broken  axle  on  a  freight 
ahead  of  us,  just  outside  of  Jersey  City — or  some- 
thing of  that  kind." 

193 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Sinking  into  his  chair,  he  interpolated  his 
speech  with  a  brief  form  of  grace  before  meat, — 
resuming  the  more  important  subject  where  he 
had  left  off,  when  the  maid  had  set  soup  before 
him  and  left  the  room: 

"  Punctuality  is  a  virtue,  my  dear.  Nobody 
appreciates  that  fact  more  than  I  do,  and  nobody 
practices  it  more  faithfully  than  I  when  I  can  be 
punctual  without  making  everybody  about  me 
uncomfortable.  But  a  virtue  overdone  comes 
very  near  being  a  vice.  As,  for  instance,  when  a 
man  comes  home,  fagged  to  death  by  business, 
faint,  because  he  hasn't  had  a  spare  minute  for 
luncheon,  fretted,  because  he  has  been  called  a 
*  beast  of  burden '  on  the  train,  and  been  made 
a  laughing-stock  of  the  loafers  at  the  station  be- 
cause the  cursed  bundles  broke  and  covered  the 
platform  with  groceries — and  his  wife  meets  him 
as  stiffly  as  if  he  had  robbed  a  bank,  or  eloped 
with  another  woman !  " 

With  true  feminine  regard  for  appearances, 
Martha  glanced  warningly  toward  the  maid  who 
was  passing  a  glass  dish  of  powdered  Parmesan 
to  her  mistress.  The  glance  was  hardly  more 
than  a  ray  from  the  corner  of  the  left  eye,  the 
flick  of  an  eyelash,  but  John  saw  and  understood. 

He  dovetailed  a  sentence  into  the  harangue  in 
the  same  tone  with  the  rest: 
194 


The  Commuter 

"  And  is  muzzled  like  a  cross  dog  if  he  ventures 
upon  an  explanation." 

Martha  stirred  the  Parmesan  into  the  plate 
before  her ;  her  voice  rang  as  clear  and  as  cold  as 
the  ice  against  the  side  of  the  tumbler  the  waitress 
was  rilling  with  water: 

"  This  macaroni  soup  is  just  the  thing  for  a 
cold  night.  We  are  on  the  eve  of  another  snow- 
storm, I  am  afraid." 

John  had  not  tasted  the  soup,  but  the  savory 
steam  titillating  his  nostrils  should  have  held  him 
back  from  the  most  disgraceful — (I  had  written 
"  unmanly,"  but  erased  it  for  reasons  some 
women  readers  will  comprehend) — the  most  dis- 
graceful act  I  shall  ever  have  the  displeasure  of 
recording  as  his. 

He  looked  directly  at  his  wife  and  said,  lip 
curled  and  eyes  narrowed  in  a  sneer : 

"  That  remark  is  a  sop  to  Cerberus,  I  suppose ! 
A  propitiatory  offering  to  the  virtual  controller  of 
the  establishment.  I  must  trouble  myself  to  apol- 
ogize to  more  than  one  offended  deity  for  the 
crime  of  being  twenty  minutes  late ! " 

His  wife  might  not  have  seen  the  sneer,  or 
heard  the  taunt,  so  serene  was  her  slight  smile,  * 
so  gentle  her  voice : 

"  I  hope  you  will  like  the  soup !  I  took  a  fancy 
this  afternoon  to  make  it.  A  fancy  that  has  ma- 

195 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

terialized  pretty  successfully — or  so  I  flatter  my- 
self. It  is  pleasant  to  feel  that  one's  hand  has  not 
quite  lost  its  cunning.  Which  reminds  me  of  a 
funny  story  Rosa  Risley  was  telling  me  to-day. 
She  heard  a  country  preacher  last  summer  mis- 
read that  psalm  after  this  fashion :  '  May  my 
tongue  forget  her  cunning,  and  my  right  hand 
cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth ! '  And  he  did 
not  discover  his  blunder,  although  the  con- 
gregation smiled,  and  some  of  them  almost 
giggled ! " 

She  laughed  a  little,  in  her  most  ladylike  way, 
in  addressing  herself  anew  to  her  soup. 

John  tasted  his,  then  was  deliberately  guilty  of 
the  meanness  of  re-salting  and  peppering  it. 

"  It  is  my  opinion  " — he  observed  while  shak- 
ing the  pepper-cruet — "  that  your  friend  is  a  past- 
mistress  in  the  art  of  word-embroidery.  She 
never  lets  a  story  suffer  for  the  lack  of  a  telling 
touch." 

"  No  ?  "  said  Martha,  as  blandly  as  before,  and 
John  became  fully  aware  of  the  fact  that,  having 
discovered  his  savage  mood  (a  genuine  com- 
muterish  savagery),  she  was  resolute  not  to  suffer 
herself  to  be  drawn  into  a  quarrel.  As  a  lord 
of  creation,  and  an  independent  suburbanite,  he 
resented  the  resolution.  He  recalled,  if  she  did 
not,  another  of  Rosa's  embroidered  anecdotes: 
196 


The  Commuter 

A  canny  Scot  counselled  his  son  "  to  obey  the 
Scriptures  when  talking  with  a  scolding  woman, 
and  aye  return  her  the  saft  answer.  It's  Bible 
law,  me  lad,  and  moreover  it  will  mak'  her  a  deal 
madder ! " 

Given  a  cross  commuter,  with  a  headache,  a 
raw  night,  the  consciousness  of  putting  himself 
deeper  into  the  wrong  with  every  intemperate 
word,  and  an  icily-imperturbable  wife — and  you 
have  the  elements  of  as  pretty  a  domestic  tiff  as 
imagination  can  conjure  up,  so  far  as  one  person 
can  handle  a  quarrel. 

Had  the  soup  been  less  savory,  even  after  add- 
ing the  condiments  it  did  not  need;  had  the 
warmed  air  of  the  well-appointed  dining-room, 
fragrant  with  the  breath  of  the  cluster  of  Bon 
Silene  roses,  set  nearer  his  plate  than  his  wife's, 
— been  less  grateful,  and  the  rest  of  the  meal  less 
to  the  liking  of  a  famished  man — our  hero's 
better  self  would  have  conquered  the  evil  spirit 
invoked  by  influences  detailed  earlier  in  this  chap- 
ter. Into  each  commuter's  life  some  wrangles 
must  fall  while  flesh  is  flesh  and  blood  is  blood. 
Which,  being  interpreted,  means  while  men  are 
men  and  women  are  women. 

By  the  time  a  cup  of  excellent  coffee  was  sent 
on  its  errand  of  digestive  mercy  to  soup,  roast, 
vegetables,  salad  and  sweets,  Richard  was  him- 

197 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

self  again,  within  and  without,  reasonably  con- 
tent with  home,  wife  and  his  renovated  self. 
Martha  left  him  in  the  library  to  the  enjoyment 
of  his  cigar  and  the  evening  paper  he  "  had  not 
had  a  chance  to  glance  at,"  when  she  excused 
herself  "  to  give  orders  for  breakfast." 

Instead  of  going  directly  to  the  kitchen,  she 
stole  away  to  her  own  room,  unlighted  save  by 
the  street-lamps,  a  glow  broken  into  wavering 
lines  by  the  now  fast- fall  ing  snow. 

She,  too,  had  had  a  tiresome  day.  Ellen 
Dolan,  the  present  incumbent  of  the  office  of  gen- 
eral housework  service,  had  "  asked  out "  for  an 
hour  in  the  early  afternoon : 

"  Just  to  step  down  the  street  long  enough  to 
buy  the  makin's  of  a  calico  dress  I  can  run  up 
meself  in  the  evenings.  A  livin'  out  gurrel  has 
no  business  puttin'  out  sewin'.  I've  put  the  mate 
into  the  pan  all  ready  to  shlip  into  the  oven,  and 
the  vegetables  is  cleaned  and  paled,  an'  every- 
thing else  is  forehanded.  I'll  be  back  before  three 
o'clock." 

As  she  was  fully  accoutred  for  the  outing,  the 
"  asking  out "  was  an  empty  form,  and  Mrs. 
Purcell's  consent  a  foregone  conclusion.  When 
she  presented  herself  in  the  kitchen,  laden  with 
parcels,  at  half-past  five  o'clock,  out  of  breath 
with  the  run  up-hill  and  bubbling  over  with  angry 
198 


The  Commuter 

denunciations  of  country  storekeepers  who  "  kept 
people  waitin'  forever  before  they  waited  on 
them,  and  had  nothin'  worth  buyin'  at  all,  at  all, 
after  a  pairson  had  stood  about  till  she  was  fair 
sick  at  hairt " — she  found  that  Mrs.  Purcell  had 
put  the  meat  down  to  roast,  made  the  soup  and 
set  it  at  the  side  of  the  range  to  simmer  into 
richness. 

The  laggard  was  received  gravely  and  her  ex- 
cuses accepted  with  the  briefest  phrase  of  regret, 
but  there  was  no  reprimand.  That  there  could 
be  none  was  patent.  The  girl  was  capable,  neat, 
quick,  willing,  industrious,  and,  in  the  main,  too 
satisfactory  for  her  employer  to  risk  losing  her 
upon  a  trifling  provocation.  The  extra  after- 
noon was  a  liberty;  overstaying  her  time  and 
leaving  the  mistress  to  do  her  work  was  an  of- 
fence. Martha  preferred  to  condone  both  rather 
than  have  a  certain  scene  and  a  probable  rup- 
ture. "  Change,"  deprecated  by  all  housewives, 
is  a  haunting  terror  to  the  suburbanite, — in  win- 
ter a  horror  to  be  averted  by  every  possible 
means. 

"  In  town,  you  have  to  wink  at  servants'  pecca- 
dilloes with  one  eye;  in  the  country,  with  both, 
and  stop  both  ears  as  well " — was  one  of  Rosa's 
sagest  proverbs. 

Martha  congratulated  herself  that  she  had 
199 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

recollected  and  acted  upon  it  when,  for  the  third 
time  in  ten  days,  John's  train  was  late.  Ellen 
had  a  trick  of  oversleeping  herself  in  the  morn- 
ing, being  young  and  healthy.  Mrs.  Purcell  had, 
long  ago,  taken  upon  herself  the  responsibility 
of  seeing  that  she  was  awakened  in  season  to 
get  the  commuter ial  early  breakfast  ready.  Lun- 
cheon was  often  delayed  from  twenty  to  thirty 
minutes,  that  Ellen's  sweeping  or  ironing  might 
not  be  interrupted.  Dinner  was  invariably  on 
time,  to  the  fraction  of  a  minute,  so  far  as  her 
share  in  the  duty  went.  Everything  was  cooked, 
dished,  and  set  over  hot  water  to  keep  warm, 
plates  were  warmed,  gas  lighted,  and  herself  in 
irreproachable  waitress-costume,  the  black  very 
black,  the  white  shining  like  frozen  snow — on  the 
tiptoe  of  expectancy  for  the  coming  of  the  master 
of  the  house. 

To-night  she  had  added  to  expectancy  fussiness 
that  approximated  ill-humor  as  the  minutes  flew, 
and  there  was  no  sign  of  the  coming  man.  Twice 
she  looked  into  the  parlor  where  Mrs.  Purcell 
sat  reading,  to  say — 

"  He  ain't  home  yet  ?  Kinder  quare,  his  bein* 
so  late,  ain't  it?" 

Both  times  Mrs.  Purcell  had  replied,  without 
raising  her  eyes  from  her  book: 

"  Something  has  detained  the  train." 
200 


The  Commuter 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  her  that  she  was  im- 
pertinent," reflected  Martha,  now,  standing  mis- 
erably by  the  window,  staring  into  the  snowy 
night.  "  I  ought  to  have  reproved  her  this  after- 
noon for  staying  out  so  late,  and  leaving  me  to 
do  her  work.  It  was  weak  and  foolish  in  me  to 
be  more  annoyed  by  John's  want  of  punctuality 
because  it  made  her  cross,  than  on  my  own  ac- 
count. And  his  irritability  to-night  would  not 
have  cut  me  to  the  quick  (poor,  tired  old  man!) 
if  he  had  not  touched  upon  the  truth  that  I  am 
afraid  of  my  servant!  I  am  running  my  house 
to  suit  her!  conforming  tastes  and  habits  to  the 
will  of  a  vulgar,  illiterate  peasant-girl.  Yes! 
John  is  right!  I  am  a  weak  coward!  a  bond- 
slave !  If  he  knew  this  as  well  as  I  do  he  would 
despise  me!" 

The  soliloquy  broke  off  suddenly.  A  man  was 
loitering  up  and  down  the  side  street  separated 
from  the  Purcell's  lawn  by  a  low  hedge,  over 
which  he  paused  to  look  at  each  passing.  His 
derby  hat  was  pulled  low  over  his  ears  to  meet 
the  upturned  collar  of  a  rough  ulster, — he 
slouched  in  his  walk,  now  and  then  halting,  as 
if  unsteady  upon  his  feet.  Altogether,  he  was  a 
suspicious-looking  straggler,  decided  the  prudent 
watcher,  to  be  lounging  about  any  respectable 
neighborhood  on  a  stormy  night.  She  must 

2OI 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

speak  of  the  circumstance  to  John,  and  caution 
Ellen  to  be  very  careful  in  fastening  down  the 
kitchen-windows. 

He  stopped  upon  his  beat  at  the  wire  gate  set 
in  the  hedge,  opened  it  and  stole  up  the  path 
leading  to  the  side-door,  his  footsteps  muffled  by 
the  snow.  Martha  raised  her  window  noiselessly 
and  leaned  out,  prepared  to  challenge  him  should 
he  try  the  hall-door. 

A  window  in  the  kitchen  went  up  at  the  same 
instant,  and  Ellen  bent  far  over  the  sill. 

"Like  a  faithful  watch-dog!"  thought  the 
mistress,  with  a  thrill  of  penitent  gratitude. 

"  Hist,  Davey !  Is  it  yourself  ?  "  was  the  sharp 
whisper  that  undeceived  her. 

The  fellow  left  the  path  to  get  to  her : 

"  Yes !  it's  me !  And  a  h 1  of  a  time  ye've 

kept  me  waitin'  out  in  the  snow!  a-watchin'  of 

yer  d d  winder  blinds  to  be  shet  to  let  me 

know  I  could  come  in !  I  was  just  makin'  up  me 
mind  to  lave  for  good  an'  all." 

Another  oath. 

"  Arrah !  now,  darlin' !  "  in  a  wheedling  whine. 
"  It's  none  o'  me  fault  at  all,  at  all !  It's  just 
Her  maneness  in  not  comin'  to  give  her  orders 
for  breakfast  until  goin'  on  for  nine  o'clock.  He 
was  late  agin  to-night,  and  that  put  me  dinner 
back — as  usual !  I'm  fair  broken-hairted  wid  the 
202 


The  Commuter 

dirthy  tricks  av'  em  both — bad  'cess  to  them,  the 
low-lived  beggars ! " 

The  bath-room  was  directly  above  the  kitchen, 
and  adjoined  Mrs.  Purcell's  chamber.  The 
lovers'  colloquy  was  still  in  progress  as  a  third 
window  slid  up,  working  silently  in  its  grooves, 
and  a  big  pitcher  of  ice-cold  water  was  emptied 
full  into  Davey's  upturned  face. 

His  howl  and  Ellen's  stifled  scream  drowned 
the  sound  of  the  closing  window  and  the  patter 
of  swift  feet  down  the  stairs. 

John,  absorbed  in  his  paper,  and  lazily  luxu- 
rious in  the  enjoyment  of  fire  and  cigar,  did  not 
notice  his  wife's  hurried  entrance  and  irregular 
breathing.  She  was  as  apparently  lost  to  the 
outer  world  in  her  book,  five  minutes  later,  when 
Ellen,  to  whose  progress  from  room  to  room 
overhead  Mrs.  Purcell  had  listened  with  inward 
glee,  put  a  red  face  in  through  the  opening  door : 

"  Did  yez  not  hear  a  n'ise  in  here?  " 

The  mistress  of  herself,  her  home  and  the  situ- 
ation, turned  in  grave  rebuke  upon  the  intruder: 

"  Ellen !  you  forgot  to  knock  before  coming  in ! 
Please  shut  that  door!  Now!  what  have  you  to 
say?" 

The  girl's  hair  was  dripping  wet — Mrs.  Purcell 
noted  with  satisfaction.  She  trembled  like  a  leaf 
with  rage  and  fright. 

203 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

"I've  had  a  tumble  scare!"  she  burst  out, 
wringing  her  hands.  "  I  was  shuttin'  the  blinds 
of  the  kitchen-winder  as  quite  and  paceable  as 
possible,  when  down  come  a  pailful  of  wather 
from  the  ruff — or  it  might  be  the  bath-room  win- 
der— and  wet  me  to  the  skin,  and  then  I  heerd  a 
norful  n'ise  in  the  yard " 

John's  bewilderment  was  sincere  beyond  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt.  He  looked  over  the  top  of  his 
paper  at  the  distracted  speaker — then  at  his  wife : 

"  What  is  she  talking  about  ?  Have  you  the 
least  idea?  " 

"  There  is  nobody  in  the  house  but  ourselves, 
Ellen, — or  ought  not  to  be!  "  said  Mrs.  Purcell, 
with  significant  severity.  "  I  heard  a  yell  awhile 
ago,  but  supposed  it  was  some  drunken  loafer 
outside.  You  are  wet ! "  regarding  her  atten- 
tively. "  Have  you  been  out  in  the  snow  ?  Was 
it  you  I  heard  go  upstairs  just  now  ?  " 

"Indade,  an'  it  was,  mem!"  impressed,  through 
her  excitement,  by  the  lady's  tone  of  dignified 
inquiry.  "  I  ran  up  to  see  who  had  thro  wed 
the  wather." 

"  And  you  found  nobody?  " 

"  Niver  a  livin'  soul — barring  meself !  " 

"  So  I  supposed ! "  smiling  slightly  and  sar- 
castically. "  This  is  a  very  strange  story,  Ellen, 
but  one  that  does  not  interest  Mr.  Purcell  or  my- 
204 


The  Commuter 

self.  Go  back  to  the  kitchen  and  try  to  compose 
yourself.  I  shall  look  in  before  bed-time  and 
give  orders  for  breakfast.  Shut  the  door  after 
you." 

John  looked  across  the  table  at  the  calm,  in- 
scrutable face  bent  over  the  "  Life  of  Dorothea 
Dix  " — parted  his  lips  as  if  to  ask  a  question, 
then  changed  his  mind  and  transferred  his 
thoughtful  regards  to  the  fire.  The  wind  whis- 
tled piercingly  outside ;  the  shriek  of  the  locomo- 
tive, tearing  its  way  into  the  heart  of  the  coun- 
try, dulled  by  the  snow-curtain,  enhanced  the 
sense  of  home  comfort  engendered  by  fragrant 
warmth,  the  book-lined  room,  the  dancing  flames 
and  the  refined  presence  of  her  whom  he  loved 
better  than  the  whole  world  beside. 

"  It  is  worth  while  to  be  a  commuter  when  one 
gets  a  Home  in  exchange ! "  he  mused  aloud,  by 
and  by. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so !  "  responded  his  wife, 
quietly.  "  There  are  two  sides  to  every  shield." 

Mystified  Ellen,  listening  at  the  door,  heard 
these  two  sentences  and  nothing  more,  although 
she  knelt,  her  ear  glued  to  the  keyhole,  for  five 
minutes  longer.  Her  mistress  may  have  guessed 
that  she  was  there.  Perhaps — for  the  never- 
indiscreet  Martha  was  laying  in  other  stores  of 
prudence  with  the  gain  in  experience — she  was 

205 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

biding  her  time  for  taking  her  husband  into  con- 
fidence. 

Certain  it  is  that  she  spoke  to  no  one  of  the 
interrupted  tete-a-tete  under  the  bath-room  win- 
dow, until  Ellen's  month  was  fully  up,  the  maid's 
wages  were  paid,  and  she  was  told  that  her  serv- 
ices were  no  longer  needed. 

"  I  think  it  best  to  make  a  change,"  was  all  the 
satisfaction  she  got  from  the  calm- faced  em- 
ployer, when  she  demanded  "  What  had  gone 
wrong?  " 

"  I  will  write  a  recommendation  for  you,"  con- 
cluded the  lady.  "  And  you  can  refer  any  one 
to  me  who  wishes  to  ask  questions." 

The  Risleys  dropped  in  that  evening  after  John 
had  dined  himself  out  of  his  commuter  humor, 
and  was  full  of  praises  of  his  wife's  management : 

"  Her  new  woman  doesn't  come  until  day  after 
to-morrow,"  he  explained.  "  She  always  con- 
trives to  have  an  interregnum  between  two  ty- 
rants. It  gives  her  time  to  breathe  and  to  get 
the  premises  clear  of  traces  of  the  last  incumbent 
before  the  next  comer.  There's  some  mystery 
connected  with  the  flitting  of  this  one.  Patty 
tells  me  that  she  gave  Ellen  warning  a  week  ago, 
but  she  never  lisped  a  word  to  me  about  it  until 
to-night,  when  she  remarked  that  she  must  be 
her  own  waitress.  The  dinner  would  have  given 
206 


The  Commuter 

her  away  anyhow.  No  hired  cook  has  her 
touch." 

Martha's  face  was  radiantly  roguish  as  she 
patted  his  shoulder  gratefully: 

"  Now — *  friends  fit  but  few  ' — I  have  a  story 
to  tell!" 

A  narrative  over  which  her  select  audience 
laughed  themselves  sick,  and  which,  as  it  em- 
bodies the  only  prank  of  which  the  staid  matron 
was  ever  known  to  be  guilty,  I  could  not  refrain 
from  setting  down  here,  as  one  of  the  humors  of 
a  Commuter's  L,ife. 


207 


CHAPTER   XV 

JACK  TAKES  THE   MATTER   IN   HAND 

Be  bolde!  be  bolde!  and  everywhere  be  bolde! 

SPENSER,  The  Faerie  Queene. 

"  As  YOU  know,  Jack,  dear,  I  seldom  worry  you 
with  domestic  matters.  But,  if  you  don't  mind, 
I  should  like  to  submit  a  correspondence  to  you 
before  mailing  my  part  of  it." 

Like  a  tactful  matron  who  had  profited  by  the 
experiences  of  four  years  of  wedded  life  and  prac- 
tical housewifery,  Mrs.  Purcell  did  not  prefer 
her  request  until  her  husband  had  eaten  his  din- 
ner and  sat  himself  down  in  the  library,  slippered 
feet  stretched  out  before  his  favorite  open  wood- 
fire,  the  postprandial  cigar  between  his  lips — 
the  very  picture  of  a  prosperous  householder  with 
satisfied  domestic  tastes.  His  wife,  fuller  of  fig- 
ure than  when  we  first  saw  her,  and  much  the 
comelier  for  it,  attired,  as  usual,  with  exquisite 
neatness  and  in  good  taste,  had  just  come  from 
the  nursery.  Her  habit  was  to  run  up  for  a 
minute  after  dinner,  while  John  was  lighting  his 
208 


Jack  Takes  the  Matter  in  Hand 

cigar,  to  make  sure  that  all  was  well  with  Jack, 
Junior,  now  two  years  old.  That  she  had  never, 
in  twenty-four  months,  failed  to  find  him  sleep- 
ing soundly,  with  no  intention  in  his  pulpy  brain 
of  doing  anything  but  sleep  for  six  hours  to  come, 
did  not  excuse,  to  her,  the  omission  of  a  single 
visit  of  inspection.  System  was  still  the  tutelary 
genius  of  her  works  and  ways. 

John  put  out  a  lazy  arm  to  draw  her  close  to 
him,  and  inclined  his  head  toward  the  caressing 
hand  it  was  sure  to  meet. 

"  I  know  I  have  the  most  considerate,  the  clev- 
erest, the  best  and  dearest  wife  ever  made,  or 
who  will  ever  be  created.  Mother  Nature  broke 
the  pattern  after  she  turned  you  out.  Sit  down 
here ! "  bringing  his  knees  together  to  offer  a 
comfortable  seat.  "  I  won't  blow  the  smoke  in 
your  face." 

"  I  don't  mind  a  really  good  cigar,"  returned 
Martha,  good-humoredly.  "  And  you  are  too 
much  of  a  gentleman  to  smoke  anything  else. 
May  I  read  two  letters  to  you?  " 

"  Fire  away ! "  said  John,  turning  his  face 
aside  to  puff  an  artistic  ring  into  right-angled 
space. 

Martha  was  gravely  businesslike. 

"  I  had  this  today  from  a  Mrs.  Bellows,  No. 
—  West  One  Hundredth  Street,  New  York : 

209 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

"Mas.  PURCELL: 

"DEAR  MADAM: — A  woman  by  the  name  of  Emma 
Smith  has  applied  to  me  for  the  place  of  cook  in  my  family. 
She  says  she  lived  for  over  two  years  with  you,  and  that 
she  has  permission  to  refer  to  you  for  testimonials  of 
ability  and  character.  When  I  asked  why  she  had  no 
written  certificate,  she  answered  that  she  left  you  when 
too  ill  to  work,  expecting  to  return.  She  was  out  of  health 
so  long  that  you  could  not  wait  for  her.  She  put  off  asking 
for  a  recommendation  from  time  to  time  until  she  was 
ashamed  to  go  back,  etc.  Kindly  let  me  know  if  this 
story  is  true.  Also,  whether  or  not  the  girl  is  a  good  cook, 
neat,  honest,  sober,  willing,  good-tempered  and  industrious 
— in  short,  while  in  your  employ  did  she  give  entire  satis- 
faction in  every  respect? 

"By  answering  these  questions  frankly  and  confiden- 
tially you  will  greatly  oblige 

"Yours  respectfully, 

"ANNA  MARR  BELLOWS. 

"Address  Mrs.  Robert  Bellows, 

"No. West  One  Hundredth  Street,  City." 

John  blew  a  deliberate  full-orbed  ring  into 
vacancy  before  saying,  in  the  non-committal  ac- 
cent peculiar  to  the  husbandly  judiciary,  and 
which  invariably  puts  wives  upon  the  deprecatory 
defensive—"  Well!  " 

As  meekly  as  a  child,  Martha  opened  and  read 
the  second  letter: 

210 


Jack  Takes  the  Matter  in  Hand 

"MRS.  BELLOWS: 

"DEAR  MADAM: — Emma  Smith  was  in  my  employ 
for  two  years  as  general  house-servant.  For  eighteen 
months  she  gave  entire  satisfaction.  She  is  an  excellent 
cook,  apt,  and  willing  to  learn;  a  good  laundress,  a  fair 
waitress  and  chamber-maid.  During  the  time  I  have 
named  she  was  pleasant  in  manner,  respectful,  neat  and 
industrious.  Then  (probably  because  of  unfortunate  as- 
sociations) she  became  careless,  untidy  and  uncertain  in 
work  and  temper,  staying  out  at  night  now  and  then,  and 
giving  weak  excuses  for  her  conduct.  I  suspected  that 
she  had  taken  to  drinking,  but  although  I  often  detected 
the  odor  of  liquor  in  her  breath,  I  cannot  say  that  I  ever 
saw  her  absolutely  intoxicated.  A  month  ago  she  ab- 
sented herself  without  leave  for  two  nights  and  two  days, 
appearing  on  the  third  day  with  a  story  of  sickness  in  her 
brother's  family,  and  the  necessity  of  immediate  return  to 
the  sick-room.  I  was  myself  confined  to  my  bed  with 
sick  headache,  and  my  baby  was  far  from  well.  I  offered 
to  pay  for  a  trained  nurse  for  her  brother's  child  if  Emma 
would  stay  until  I  could  secure  some  one  in  her  place. 
She  insisted  upon  going  at  once,  although  her  month  was 
but  half  gone. 

"Since  she  left  me,  I  have  been  told  by  my  tradespeople 
that  she  has  been  drinking  heavily  for  nearly  a  year.  I 
cannot  vouch  for  the  truth  of  this  story,  but  I  can  give  you 
the  names  of  my  grocer  and  baker,  who  make  these  state- 
ments, and  are  willing  to  confirm  them. 

"  I  have  written  at  length,  because  I  think  it  but  right 
to  put  you  in  possession  of  all  the  facts  in  the  case.  I  am 

211 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

treating  you  as  I  should  wish  to  be  treated  were  our 
positions  reversed. 

"Sincerely  yours, 

"MARTHA  BURR  PURCELL." 


John  filliped  the  ash  from  his  cigar  with  the 
nail  of  his  little  finger.  A  man  can  throw  a 
vast  deal  of  expression  into  this  simple  action. 
John  made  it  very  significant.  Before  putting 
the  cigar  back  into  his  mouth  he  feigned  to 
examine  the  lighted  end  with  profound  concern. 
Martha's  color  rose  and  her  heart  began  to  go 
down.  An  immense  majority  of  wives  are  in 
wholesome  (or  unwholesome)  dread  of  their  lords 
when  these  last  are  in  judicial  mood.  John 
Purcell  was  a  capital  fellow,  and  a  model  hus- 
band, but  he  was  a  mortal  man.  Such  construe 
a  request  for  advice  into  an  opportunity  for 
argument. 

"  It  beats  all,"  he  said  slowly,  and  of  course 
magisterially,  "  how  you  women  sugar-coat  pills 
and  beat  about  the  bush!  The  girl  is  a  sot! 
You  know  it,  and  I  know  it!  After  she  went 
away  you  found  a  dozen  empty  whiskey-bottles 
in  her  room-closet,  and  her  mattress  half  burned 
in  two  from  beneath,  where  she  had  dropped  a 
match  among  some  papers  on  the  floor.  Your 
butcher  and  baker  and  candlestick-maker  are 
212 


Jack  Takes  the  Matter  in  Hand 

ready  to  swear  that  she  was  drunk  and  abusive 
to  them,  times  without  number.  Rosa  Risley's 
servant  says  Emma  had  carousals  here,  night 
after  night,  while  we  were  in  the  country  last 
summer.  In  the  face  of  all  this  you  write  a  four- 
page  letter  full  of  rose-water  sentiment  that  will 
put  the  creature  into  another  house,  where  she 
may  quite  succeed  in  burning  the  family  in  their 
beds.  The  very  thing  I've  heard  you  condemn 
in  other  mistresses  hundreds  of  times.  You've 
written  a  very  pretty,  ladylike  letter,  my  dear,  but 
you  haven't  done  as  you  would  be  done  by.  That 
is — according  to  my  way  of  thinking !  " 

Martha  was  an  even-tempered  woman,  but  she 
cast  her  eyes  down  to  hide  a  light  in  them  that 
was  not  Griselda-ish ;  her  lips  were  compressed. 
She  had  taken  great  pains  in  writing  that  letter, 
and  in  her  secret  soul  thought  it  a  neat  produc- 
tion, candid,  Christian  and  comprehensive.  Hus- 
bands are  adepts  in  throwing  cold  water  upon 
wifely  complacency.  The  dipperful  cast  by  John 
into  her  face  was  dashed  with  acid  that  smarted 
where  it  struck. 

"If  you  will  write  a  letter,  I  will  copy  it!" 
she  proposed,  holding  down  tone  and  temper. 

John  smoked  savagely  for  three  seconds. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear !  It's  your  fight — 
not  mine ! " 

213 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Martha  tightened  the  mental  rein.  If  he  had 
but  known  it,  her  voice  was  dangerously  calm. 

"  But,  John !  I  really  want  to  do  the  right 
thing.  Tell  me  just  what  you  would  say  if  this 
were  your  '  fight,'  as  you  call  it.  Suppose  one 
of  your  clerks  referred  to  you  in  just  such  cir- 
cumstances ?  What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  The  only  fair  and  manly  thing — tell  the  truth 
to  my  brother-man!  Without  fear  or  favor. 
But  women's  ideas  of  honor  differ  from  men's  in 
this,  as  in  other  things.  Send  your  letter  as  it 
is.  You  know  I  never  dictate  to  you  in  domestic 
affairs." 

"But,  Jack,  dear!"  She  had  left  her  perch 
upon  his  knee,  and  stood  on  the  hearth,  turning 
the  letter,  folded  for  mailing,  in  her  hands,  the 
picture  of  distressful  incertitude.  "  I  do  want 
to  do  the  honorable  thing  according  to  my  lights ! 
You  know  I  never  saw  the  girl  really  drunk " 

John  gave  a  short  laugh,  and  repeated  the  ash- 
and-finger-nail  act  over  the  pretty  ash-cup  his 
wife  had  given  him  on  his  last  birthday. 

The  tears  started  to  Martha's  eyes — her  voice 
thickened  and  shook. 

"  That  is  not  quite  fair  or  kind,  John !    I  asked 

for  advice,  not  ridicule.    And" — turning  away, 

that  he  might  not  see  the  drops  which  escaped 

the  fast-winking  lids — "  it  is  not  a  bit  like  you !  " 

214 


Jack  Takes  the  Matter  in  Hand 

Of  course,  a  reconciliation  scene  ensued.  Fif- 
teen minutes  later,  Martha  had  humbly  asked  and 
received  gracious  permission  from  her  repentant 
spouse  to  tear  up  the  letter  she  had  written,  and 
throw  it  into  the  fire,  then  seated  herself  grate- 
fully at  her  desk  to  write  from  his  dictation  the 
epistle  an  honorable  business  man  would  indite 
to  his  brother-man  in  the  like  circumstances. 

He  made  it  short  and  strong: 

"MRS.  ROBERT  BELLOWS: 

"DEAR  MADAM: — The  maid,  Emma  Smith,  of  whom 
you  write,  left  my  employ  in  a  drunken  spree.  I  had 
suspected  for  some  months  that  she  was  falling  into  bad 
habits,  but  had  not  positive  proof  of  what  my  tradespeople 
assured  me  was  the  fact " 

The  scribe  looked  up.  "  But,  John !  they  never 
said  a  word  to  me  of  it  until  after  she  left." 

"  Say  '  have  assured  me,'  since  you  are  set 
upon  splitting  hairs.  Are  you  ready? 

"She  absented  herself  for  two  days  and  two  nights 
without  leave,  and  showed  all  the  signs  of  her  recent  de- 
bauch when  she  presented  herself  in  my  sick-room  with 
a  story  of  a  sick  relative,  which  I  learned  afterward  was  a 
falsehood. 

"She  has  told  you  the  truth  in  one  respect.  She  was 
unable  to  work  when  she  left,  but  not  because  she  was  ill. 

"You  have  asked  me  to  deal  frankly  with  you,  and  I 
215 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

will  add  that  after  the  woman  left  my  house  1  found  ten 
empty  whiskey-bottles  in  her  clothes-closet,  and  a  pile  of 
charred  papers  under  her  bed,  the  mattress  of  which  was 
burned  half  through. 

"In  the  circumstances  I  am  surprised  that  she  dared 
refer  to  me  for  a  certificate  of  character. 
"  Respectfully  yours, 

"MARTHA  BURR  PURCELL." 

"  You  don't  think  it  advisable  to  answer  her 
questions  as  to  her  qualifications,  and  so  forth  ?  " 
ventured  Martha,  pressing  the  blotter  upon  the 
written  page. 

"  Why  should  you  waste  your  time  and  hers 
by  going  into  particulars  that  would  not  interest 
her  in  the  least?  What  you  have  told  her  settles 
the  matter  for  good  and  all." 

Martha  folded  and  enveloped  the  letter  slowly. 
As  she  affixed  the  stamp  she  sighed. 

"  The  girl  was  very  unworthy,  I  suppose,  but 
I  can't  forget  how  good  she  was  to  me  when  I 
was  not  feeling  well,  and  she  was  certainly  very 
fond  of  Baby.  She  cried  over  him  as  she  said 
1  Good-by '  that  last  day." 

"  Maudlin ! "  said  John,  but  smiling  indul- 
gently. 

He  is  an  exceptionally  unreasonable  man  who 
is  not  good-humored  when  he  has  carried  his 
point. 

216 


Jack  Takes  the  Matter  in  Hand 

"  I'll  mail  that  before  I  go  to  bed,  and  that 
chapter  of  Martha's  Distractions  will  be  closed !  " 

This  was  Saturday  night.  When  he  came 
home  on  Wednesday  evening,  a  broad  envelope, 
with  a  determined-looking,  official-printed  in- 
scription in  the  upper  left-hand  corner,  lay  beside 
his  plate.  He  repeated  it  aloud  in  slipping  a 
fork-tine  under  the  flap: 

"  Women's  Defensive  League." 

The  face  the  wife  thought  so  handsome  that 
she  never  tired  of  watching  it,  changed  darkly 
as  he  read.  An  ugly  word  escaped  the  pursed 
lips.  Ugly  words  were  more  rare  than  before 
he  married  a  fastidious  woman;  rarer  yet  since 
Jack — as  the  mother  had  thought  it  well  to 
remind  his  father — really  understood  what  was 
said  to  him,  and  was  beginning  to  imitate  his 
paternal  model. 

"What  is  it,  dear?  Anything  unpleasant?" 
asked  Martha,  in  real  alarm. 

He  tossed  the  letter  across  the  table,  narrowly 
missing  her  plate  of  soup. 

"MR.  JOHN  C.  PURCELL: 

"DEAR  SIR: — Emma  Smith,  lately  employed  by  you, 
has  entered  a  complaint  at  our  office  against  you  for  non- 
payment of  a  fortnight's  wages  due  her  when  she  left  your 
employ — amount,  $10.00  (ten  dollars).  She  has  put  her 
claim  into  our  hands  for  collection.  Will  you  call  and 

217 


The  Distractions  oj  Martha 

settle  this  debt,  and  spare  yourself  the  expense  of  a  legal 
process?  Respectfully  yours, 

"AGNES  HALL,  Secretary." 

"  Legal  process  be — shot! "  ejaculated  the 
irate  householder,  recollecting  Jack's  imitative 
powers  in  time  to  swallow  a  warmer  expletive. 
"  That's  as  much  as  women  know  about  law ! 
The  creature  dismissed  herself.  You  begged  her 
to  stay  her  month  out,  and  she  refused.  Agnes 
Hall,  Secretary's  claim  hasn't  a  leg  to  stand  upon. 
That's  one  law  that  protects  the  employer — thank 
Heaven!  It  got  on  the  code  by  accident,  of 
course,  but  it's  there!  As  I  shall  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  reminding  the  Women's  Defensive  League 
in  person  to-morrow  morning.  Yes!  and  give 
them  page  and  section  for  it.  We  learned  that 
much  early  in  the  action,  little  woman — thanks 
to  Bridget  the  First." 

"  The  rule  worked  the  other  way  then,"  Mar- 
tha could  not  help  saying. 

The  memory  was  still  a  sore  spot  in  her  eco- 
nomic mind. 

"  We've  got  the  whip-hand  now !  "  exulted  the 
husband.  "  I  could  almost  forgive  her  for  teach- 
ing us  the  lesson." 

He  was  in  a  yet  more  jubilant  mood  in  report- 
ing to  her,  the  next  evening,  the  result  of  what 
218 


Jack  Takes  the  Matter  in  Hand 

he  called  his  "  bout "  with  Agnes  Hall,  Secre- 
tary. 

"  To  make  assurance  trebly  sure,  I  looked  into 
Layton's  office  in  our  building,"  he  related. 
"  Capital  fellow,  Layton !  long-headed  and  kind- 
hearted!  We  had  had  some  business  dealings 
before,  and  became  quite  well  acquainted.  He 
told  me  in  ten  words  that  I  had  law  as  well  as 
right  on  my  side.  You  should  have  seen  Miss 
Agnes  Hall,  Secretary's  face  when  I  declined  to 
discuss  the  matter  with  her,  but  referred  her  to 
my  lawyer!  She  turned  white  at  the  sound  of 
his  name.  It's  a  terror  to  evil-doers." 

In  a  very  different  mood  he  sought  the  presence 
of  his  lawyerly  friend  one  week  thereafter.  This 
time  he  had  a  letter  to  show,  as  at  the  former  call. 
A  formidable-looking  document — long  of  envel- 
ope, confusing  as  to  technical  verbiage.  He  and 
his  wife  had  made  out  the  sense  of  the  document 
over  night.  It  sounded  preposterous  when  they 
disentangled  the  pith  from  a  network  of  bark  and 
fibre.  It  was  appalling,  too. 

A  reputable  law  firm — at  sight  of  whose  letter- 
head Mr.  Layton  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  put 
out  a  meditative  lower  lip — notified  John  C.  Pur- 
cell  and  Martha  Burr  Purcell,  his  wife,  of  Bud- 
field,  New  Jersey,  that  they  would  be  proceeded 
against  for  wilful  and  malicious  slander  of  Emma 

219 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

Smith,  Plaintiff.  Said  slanderous  and  libellous 
allegations  were  contained  in  a  letter  written  by 
the  said  Martha  Burr  Purcell  to  Anna  Marr 
Bellows,  of  New  York  City,  et  cetera,  et  cetera. 

The  lawyer's  eyebrows  went  up  again  as  John 
laid  Mrs.  Bellows'  letter  before  him,  his  finger 
upon  "  frankly  and  confidentially." 

"  That's  a  woman's  sense  of  honor !  "  growled 
the  defendant.  "  Yet  they  wonder  that  the  Serv- 
ant Question  is  breaking  up  homes  by  the  thou- 
sand, and  making  us  the  laughing  stock  of  the 
world  as  a  nation  of  hotel-dwellers !  " 

He  said  the  same  in  substance  and  at  length  to 
me  last  week  en  route  from  New  York  to  Bud- 
field,  where  I  was  to  stand  godmother  for  his 
baby  daughter. 

"  Layton  pulled  me  through  all  right.  Splen- 
did fellow  that !  and  an  honest  lawyer !  He  gave 
the  girl's  counsel  to  understand  that  we  could 
prove  her  to  be  no  better  than  a  common  drunk- 
ard, and  scared  him  with  the  bottles  and  the 
burnt  bed.  But  his  strongest  point  was  the  threat 
to  show  up  the  Bellows  woman  to  the  jury,  and 
through  the  newspapers,  in  her  true  colors,  as  a 
traitor  to  her  sister-housewife  and  false  to  her 
written  word.  She  was  properly  frightened,  I 
can  tell  you.  Wrote  a  cringing  letter  to  my  wife, 
220 


Jack  Takes  the  Matter  in  Hand 

saying  the  girl  had  insisted  upon  knowing  why 
she  wouldn't  engage  her,  and  by  begging  and 
scolding  and  crying,  got  the  letter  away  from  her 
to  show  to  her  sister,  then  wouldn't  give  it  back. 
How's  that  for  honor?  And  she  isn't  the  only 
one  that  has  served  another  housekeeper  as  mean 
a  trick. 

"If  you  would  organize  and  treat  one  another 
fairly,  the  entire  system  of  Domestic  Service 
would  be  reformed  inside  of  a  year. 

"  There  is  a  thorough,  if  informal,  Trades' 
Union  among  your  maids,  of  whatever  nation- 
ality," he  continued,  deliberately.  "  It  is  as  pow- 
erful as  any  Secret  Society  ever  known  to  a 
Government.  They  hold  together,  and  they  pull 
straight  in  harness.  You  housewives  have  no 
class  spirit — no  loyalty  to  one  another.  A  ma- 
chinist's main  object  in  constructing  his  wheels 
and  cogs  and  levers  and  pulleys,  and  what  not,  is 
to  avoid  friction.  Your  household  machinery 
is  all  friction  except  when  a  woman  who  is  a  per- 
fect cook,  competent  chambermaid  and  an  apt 
waitress,  does  her  own  housework,  and  puts  out 
her  washing.  Then  she  goes  to  pieces  physically, 
unless  she  is  as  strong  as  an  ox,  and  has  such 
a  head  for  System  as  my  wife  has,  for  instance." 

"  Yet  our  foremothers  used  to  do  all  that — 
221 


The  Distractions  of  Martha 

and  more — and  lived  to  a  green  old  age  " — I 
slipped  in  a  word. 

I  had  heard  John  on  American  housewifery  be- 
fore, and  knew  that  discourse  thereupon  was  a 
sweet  and  savory  morsel  under  his  tongue. 

"  That  is  the  stock  argument  which  flogs 
women  of  this  generation  out  of  breath — out  of 
their  senses — out  of  their  lives !  To  say  nothing 
of  the  primitive  manner  of  our  grandmother's 
living,  the  well-to-do  among  them  had  '  help.' 
That's  what  they  called  them,  and  they  were 
right.  They  had  a  place  in  the  household,  and 
fitted  into  it.  They  were  not  Arabs,  or  rather, 
Ishmaelites — predatory  bands,  their  hands  against 
employers — not  working  with,  and  for  them  for 
the  common  good." 

"  There  are  bright  and  shining  exceptions !  " 
I  managed  to  get  in  another  word.  "  Mrs.  Ris- 
ley's  Mary,  now  in  her  twelfth  year  of  service, 
and  Martha's  Rose  and  Susan,  who  have  lived 
with  her  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  concerned  for 
four  years." 

We  had  left  the  train,  and  were  strolling 
through  the  sweet-scented  twilight  toward  the 
Purcell  home. 

"  A  homestead,"  Martha  had  called  it  to  me 
after  a  wing  had  been  added  and  the  roof  raised 

222 


Jack  Takes  the  Matter  in  Hand 

a  half-story.  "  We  own  it  now,  you  know.  And 
we  have  lived  here  ten  years." 

John  raised  his  cane  to  point  at  the  stars, 
brightening  above  our  heads. 

"  Exceptions ! "  he  said,  meaningly,  "  that 
make  the  rest  of  the  sky  look  darker ! " 


223 


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